A Mark of Insanity
by thequeenofpeace14
Summary: Doctor Harleen Quinzel never expected her soulmate to end up being her first ever patient at Arkham Asylum, The Joker. But the soulmate identifying tattoos never lie. A Joker/Harley fic with a Soulmate twist. AU. Sexual themes, violence. M rate soon.
1. Chapter 1

**I watched Suicide Squad this weekend and loved Leto and Margot Robbie's portrayal of the Joker and Harley Quinn. I've been wanting to write something about them, so this is my attempt. It's a soul mate fic, though I am not sure what anyone will think on whether I should continue writing it. I would love to know if its something I should write more of, though.**

* * *

 **A Mark of Insanity**

Harleen remembered her 22nd birthday as if it were yesterday. By the time midnight had near rolled in, she had almost been sick with equals measures of dread and anticipation. She had locked herself into her apartment, making sure no lights from outside of Gotham's streets seeped in through the curtains while she focused on breathing deeply, relaxing herself for when the moment arrived.

She'd stripped down to her shorts and a fluorescent pink sports bra, standing near the mirror, the only light illuminating her surroundings coming from the lamp in her bedroom. In the only way she knew how to find inner calm and clarity in the moment, Harleen stretched, her eyes glued to her reflection in the floor length mirror in the room.

She took a small step forward with her left foot, crouching down into a lunge position, touching the fraying brown carpet with her fingertips. She straightened her leg, raising her butt in the air as her pink lips formed an O-shape back at her in the mirror as she concentrated on exhaling out, slowly, deeply.

She felt the pleasant, distracting light burn in her quads as she resumed the position for over thirty seconds. When she dipped her chin towards where the clock was on the wall, her heart accelerated as the large hand pointed daringly close to the 12. It was finally here, at last. The moment she had been waiting for.

One minute past 12.00 AM, her tattoo started to appear across her stomach, right from one hip, ending at the other. Harleen pulled herself slowly out of her position, instead sitting back on her haunches, her eyes glued to the mirror as the words slowly formed. It was the most curious prickling sensation across her skin, a sensation that made goosebumps form along her arms, as if someone were holding an invisible tattoo gun and was scribbling onto her skin. Most people's tattoos were in plain black ink but Harleen's was a bright, vivid green that stood out against her porcelain skin.

Inhaling shakily, she brought her hand to her stomach, tracing the thin line of words with her fingers, wondering at their significance, and at what context the words were said in. The skin where the tattoo now was didn't feel raised or uncomfortable; If anything, it now felt as if it had always been there for years.

In the two years that followed, the tattoo was both a blessing and a curse. A curse, because she could never wear short shirts that showed off her midriff, and a blessing, because it meant that, somewhere out there, she had a soulmate. It made her feel more confident despite the trials she faced, as an aspiring psychiatrist. It gave her a sense of comfort and reassurance because, soon, in the future, she would have her soulmate there and he would be her supportive guide in life, her life mate.

For ages, she felt impatient. She got through her years of study as a psychiatrist at Gotham University, studying with determination and sheer concentration. Only, her soulmate never crossed paths with her. He wasn't a fellow student at the University. He wasn't someone she passed out on the streets- or someone who was also training at her local gym. When was her soulmate going to arrive? What was taking him so long to enter her life and say those meaningful six words?

Then again, no one knew how the tattoos worked, after all. No one had come up with a logical explanation of why and how it existed. It just became a common fact that, at the age of 22, the first significant words your soulmate said to you would be etched across your skin permanently.

So she tried not to stress about the fact so much. She tried to push the soulmate identifying tattoo aside, venturing to focus on getting on the right career-path. Her dreams were realized when she saw that Arkham Asylum, Gotham's Home for the Mentally Insane, had been looking for a new psychiatrist to join their team.

After a very hectic morning of the Head of Arkham informing everyone that they had a new patient who had previously broken out of the Asylum twice before- a dangerous, infamous patient that went by the name of The Joker, with no other alias or background- Harleen got her very first case assigned to her. She would be the guinea pig, the first female psychiatrist to ever have The Joker as a patient.

She spent her morning diligently reading through old files previous psychiatrists had recorded down on the patient, her glasses pressed up against her nose, her desk littered with files. A scalding, steaming cup of coffee sat next to her elbow as she scanned the patient's files, her mind scattering on words such as 'schizophrenic' and 'hazard to society'. Then she came across a photograph of the patient and she closed her eyes in relief, grateful to get a glimpse of him- even in still, lifeless form- before she went in. She felt more prepared when she had a face to work with.

Her tattoo burned and tingled as she held the photo close to her face, inspecting the difficult and violent man that was known as The Joker.

The first thing she noticed, was that his hair was a vibrant, fluorescent shade of green, almost similar to that of the ink of her soulmate identifying tattoo. His face was pale and angular, giving Harleen the impression that he liked to use white face paint. His eyes, a deep greyish-blue, were surrounded by dark, sunken circles around them, as if the patient had suffered with a constant bad case of insomnia.

She pressed her tongue to the corner of her mouth absently as she peered closer at the tattoo on his forehead. Damaged, it read. Was that how the patient felt about himself personally? That he was damaged? The burning feeling on her tattoo grew more intense as she studied The Joker- something that had never happened to her before.

Using her free hand, she pushed it under the bottom of her blouse, cupping her hand over the tattoo on her stomach, her fairly cold palm presenting a moment of blissful relief against the inflammation.

"He's ready," a male's voice spoke from behind her, and Harleen jolted in her seat, her heart hammering at the rude intrusion.

She dropped the photo, craning her neck around to glance up at the man who she knew as one of Arkham's guards. He was closer to her than Harleen felt comfortable with- his head bent, his chin near her ear. She could smell the sweat on his skin, his aftershave.

"God, you scared little old me," she said with a short laugh. "I never even knew you were there?"

"The patient," the guard said pointedly. "The patient is ready and secure in the room."

"Right," she mustered, disorientated. "Show me to him then."

It took Harleen a second to get her head straight. Quickly, she stood, tucking in the files as neatly as possible. Yanking down the end of her blouse and making sure it covered her stomach properly, she turned, following the guard briskly, her heels clicking along the dank, cold hallways.

Harleen could feel the sweat gathering uncomfortably around her armpits as she walked a pace behind the guard, her pulse racing. She felt insecure and out of her element already; This was her first patient, and she wanted to do it right, with not only by Arkham's standards and correct procedure, but do right by the patient as well by treating him as humanely as possible.

Her hands that were hanging at her sides itched with wanting to touch the tattoo on her stomach again. The sensation had returned, the dull burning, tingling sensation. Harleen wondered if she was coming down with some sort of infection or if this was natural. The meaning of what was happening to her was uncertain.

"He's been restrained for not only his safety, but yours," the guard was saying, his voice echoing along the cracked walls. Harleen shook her head, pushing her distractions away. "Keep a fair distance. He's known to be a bit of a biter."

"Well, thanks for letting me know," she retorted, overwhelmed. "That really helps me to feel better."

 _He's known to be a bit of a biter?_ The warning made Harleen feel queasy. _Surely it was an exaggeration just to get her scared?_

As they reached the end of the hallway, Harleen peered in through the glass window separating them, finding her first patient seated and properly restrained, as advised. He was laced up tight in a straitjacket, his arms and hands pinned around his chest in the white fabric.

An odd sensation of the walls spinning overcame her, making her blink and squint heavily. She leaned against the wall opposite from the window with her shoulder, the back of her hands dampening with sweat as she breathed through her nose deeply.

It was a feeling Harleen had felt only once before; A dizzying unpleasant feeling when she pushed herself too hard once while doing her gymnastics. Afterwards, she had to sit with her head inclined as she focused on breathing, gulping in compulsive sips of water to keep herself re-hydrated.

She felt the guard's eyes on her, watching her questioningly. She couldn't behave like this. It was her big break, her first ever patient. This was her dream career. She couldn't let herself be shown as vulnerable, especially not on her first real day.

"Suppose I ought to go in there, huh?" she said shakily.

"Remember. I'm right out here if you need anything." The guard touched her shoulder, being a bit more familiar than she felt comfortable with, though the goodness of his intentions didn't go past her. "You just make the sign and I'll be straight in to contain the situation."

Straightening her shoulders and ignoring the tingling on her skin where her tattoo permanently was, she forced her lips to part in a bright, reassuring smile to the guard. "Thanks but I should be fine, really. I mean, he's secured in a straitjacket. What's the worst that he could do to me?"

He buzzed her in, and Harleen could hear air whooshing in her ears disturbingly as she pushed herself off the wall to enter the room to where her first patient waited for her.

The moment he lifted his gaze to look at her after the doors locked back up automatically, Harleen felt her heart pump in her chest. With her weak smile still in place, she walked towards the only lone, vacant seat across from her patient on the table.

Once she sat, crossing her legs while her hands went beneath the steel table to readjust her skirt over her knees, the relief was immediate. Sitting made her feel instantly better and sure of herself.

"Good morning," she said, sounding far braver than she felt when she saw that she was the current object of The Joker's scrutiny.

The photograph hadn't done him justice. He had an immediate physical presence, one powerful and unnerving. To be looked at by him, it was equal parts intimidating and fascinating.

"We'll get started shortly but I suppose firstly I ought to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel."

Maintaining eye-contact with the man was a struggle, but Harleen forced herself to.

She met his gaze through the hazy lenses on her glasses while he stared back at her indescribably in return. She thought she saw a fleeting emotion of surprise flicker on the patient's face; his bright violet lips parted, silver gleaming on his teeth as his sunken black-rimmed eyes widened slightly.

But before Harleen could even so much begin to wonder what that was all about, his reaction, his face closed down, becoming blank again. The tingling on her stomach was now a mere barely noticeable side-effect, something she could easily look past.

When The Joker finally spoke, Harleen was shocked.

"What a pretty, pretty name you got there, Doctor," he rumbled out, his voice not at all what she had been expecting. It was gruff, yet high-pitched. He tilted his head forward, a lock of his green hair falling into his forehead, his tongue gliding along his bottom lip, "Do your friends call you Harley?"

She felt as if she had swallowed a few sharp shards of chilling cold ice as his words echoed in her ears, her esophagus closing over. Harleen felt the sudden distressing, paralyzing feeling that she were choking, that someone were throttling her.

 _Do your friends call you Harley?_

 _Do your friends call you Harley?_

The weight of it all threatened to crush her. Those six words. She had memorized them since they first were marked and etched onto her skin.

No, she thought to herself, her eyes wide as she stared at the man across from her, her lips opening and closing as if she was a fish out of water. No, no, no. It couldn't be. It can't be.

Her hands shook as she slid them under the table, clasping them in her lap hard, her fingernails pinching into her skin.

No, not him. It couldn't be him, damn it. Anyone else but him, of all people. Anyone else but a violent man, described as a schizophrenic sociopath. Anyone but him.

Frantic, she let her eyes roam down his face, searching. She had learned that if one soulmate had a tattoo, the other did as well. He would have to have the first words she had ever said to him tattooed on his body as well. A part of her desperately prayed that she wouldn't see the soulmark on him, that she was wrong.

Her eyes flit to the Damaged tattoo on his forehead, to the small J on his cheekbone. As her eyes darted lower, she caught the tattoo just barely showing through the collar of the straitjacket.

On the side of his neck, just three inches below his earlobe, he had words trailing down towards his collarbone. The straitjacket obstructed half of it, but the words were still there in light blue cursive, somewhat easy for her to figure out and understand.

 _My name is Doctor Harl..._ she read, before it cut off and ended below the stark-white fabric.

She couldn't deny it or pretend it wasn't real then, not when the evidence was there right in front of her. She had finally come across her soulmate, the one for her. As it turned out, he was a lunatic, a mad-man, a diagnosed schizophrenic as by one of Arkham's finest Doctors.

Harleen wondered what that meant for her, as a person. Was it an indication that she was just as mad as the man sitting before her, if her soulmate ended up being him?

* * *

 **What did you think? Is this story line something you would be interested in more of? Does the soulmate concept work for them? I'm not sure, but it was fun writing. :) I will try to update twice a week, or every Saturday/Sunday depending on my study load. I'm studying at the moment but I'll try getting into a regular update routine. Also, I haven't attempted a Harley/Joker fic before so I can't guarantee they will be true to the characters onscreen, but I'll try my best :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Three years ago...**_

"It's a very complex process, but there's no denying you'll feel better once you find her," Jonny Frost was saying thoughtfully as he sat behind the steering wheel, driving the car. "I mean, it said she's a Doctor, right? Doctor Harleen Quinzel? So that's where she is. She's in a hospital somewhere. That's where she's got to be. So what are we doing? Why not hit all the hospitals in Gotham?"

The Joker growled and shifted in the passenger's seat in agitation, rolling his eyes. Lately, this was all he had been hearing from Jonny. All this senseless, non-stop, namby-pamby chit-chat. It had started ever since the stupid soulmark appeared on the side of his neck. He hadn't even known it was there at the time, until he woke the next morning to draw a smile around his mouth with a thin line of black eyeliner, simply because he was bored. The sight of it, there, in blue cursive on his neck, it gave him a good laugh.

 _My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel..._

 _Doctor Harleen Quinzel..._

 _Doctor... Harleen..._

He hadn't known he had even been seriously looking for her, until his right-hand man Jonny pointed it out to him. The Joker blamed Jonny for that.

It was all that grating, irritating nonsense he spewed out about it, ever since he had noticed the tattoo on The Joker's neck himself, the soul identifying mark. These days, all Jonny seemed to want to chat about was soulmates and how Jonny's life had changed so significantly since he'd met his. Hell, the only time The Joker thought he could shut him up- other than killing him- was by keeping him busy in the line of fire. And when he could shut Jonny up for those few blissful minutes, in the midst of a symphony of bullets and gunfire, it was the most glorious peaceful silence on earth.

"I'm telling you. She must be a Doctor somewhere in a hospital. So why do we keep hitting up banks for?"

Joker grit his teeth as Jonny prattled on, snarling through his mouth again as impulsively he jerked his head sideways, slamming his ear and the side of his head into the cool glass on the car window. The sharp pain it brought on only served to make him break out into a delirious smile and laugh.

The reason they had hit up banks so much, was because The Joker wanted to show himself that he didn't need her. He didn't need no Doctor called Harleen Quinzel, despite what the tattoo on his neck said and what it represented. He didn't need anybody, but himself. He was the master of his own universe. He had built his own empire, becoming one of the most equally feared and revered criminals in Gotham City.

He didn't need no Harleen Quinzel. After all, he'd gotten through over thirty years without a dame in his life. Becoming soft and reliant on someone else, it seemed so... boring, so... degrading. For that reason alone, he hadn't put much stock into the tattoo and the mawkish concept of soulmates.

But _sometimes._..

 _Sometimes_ in those quiet moments alone, left in a dark room, trapped in his own thoughts, his mind began to wander. Much as he liked to believe he could get by without her like he had been doing most of his life until the mark showed up, there were pitiful moments that he had no control over; sad, depressing lonely moments that plagued him.

Lately, the only thing that sent even the barest tingle of a tiny thrill through him was shooting and murdering people. Seeing people react to him and savoring how scared they were. He'd always been a fairly trigger-happy guy, but now, even more so. There was just something missing, something he couldn't place his finger on that left a constant, empty niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach. It would be nice to have someone to share those moments with, the exhilarating, life-taking kind. It would be nice to have a warm body to sleep next to, someone that was just as much as a 'freak' as he was.

Maybe Jonny-Boy was right?

Perhaps it was time he found his Queen?

His very own Doctor.

His one, his only... Harleen Quinzel.

* * *

Doctor Jones glanced at his watch, counting down the minutes eagerly until he could finally clock off at last. It was 12.30 AM, and he'd just worked a back-to-back night shift. His steps were laborious and fatigued as he entered his office, his hand stroking down the length of his silk tie. He couldn't wait to get home. His wife was in the late stages of her pregnancy, and he could already tell-

The sound of glass smashing and loud thumping noises broke him out of his tired trance. Doctor Jones's heart began to race as he stopped frozen in his tracks, his feet glued to the fraying office carpet. What was that noise? He wondered, at the same time it happened again, this time louder than before.

Then he thought he heard screams coming from the reception area. And... gunshots?

Acting on instinct, he staggered towards his desk, reaching for his phone. That was when it happened, so quickly. One minute, his hand had brushed against the shiny plastic of the telephone on his desk. Then, in a split second before his very own eyes, he was staring head-on into the barrel of a shotgun.

"If I were you, I'd put that phone down," Jonny warned menacingly.

"What?" Doctor Jones spluttered in shock. The realization of what was happening finally came to him. He had at first suspected that he was hearing things, that it was fatigue and tiredness interfering with his hearing.

 _How wrong he was._

"Put the phone down and take a seat!" Jonny yelled, and Doctor Jones gasped in horror as the end of the barrel was jabbed into the center of his forehead, the cool metal scraping against his skin. "Do it!"

It was all such a flurry of activity. Another man walked into the room. Another one. And another. Four. Four men now.

Doctor Jones felt his fingers tremble and loosen from their grip over his phone. Hands came around his shoulders, forcefully pushing him into his office chair. He flinched when he spun his head around wildly, searching for faces to recognize but only finding some sort of silly Halloween costume obstructing the men's faces. One had the ghastly face of a hairy red hog, another a werewolf. Was this some sort of trick? A joke? Were one of his staff members playing a silly prank on him? But then the rifle felt real?

He felt utterly powerless to stop it when his body began shaking, from his head, right down to his toes. He felt the uncontrollable urge to cry, to empty himself and urinate when he glanced up at the rifle the man was holding directly pointed at him still. What was the meaning of this? Had he upset some patient's husband?

"W-why are you doing this?" Doctor Jones forced himself to ask, his voice tight. "Who are you people? Why are you-" The words caught and died on the tip of his tongue at what he heard next behind him. He found he could not go on.

Laughter. _Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha._

Ice cold fear gripped and tugged at Doctor Jones' heart when he heard shoes scuffling on the ground from behind him. Two pale hands shot out, grasping onto his shoulders, shaking him vigorously in the chair and he gulped loudly. A beaming toothy smile tattoo was on one of those hands. Gold skull rings. He turned his head left to right frantically, hoping to catch a glimpse of who that disturbing laugh belonged to, and at whose hands were gripping him now, groping, feeling around. All he caught out of the corner of his eye was a flash of purple.

Sinewy bony fingers dug tight into his skin through the fabric of his jacket before leaving his body, and he closed his eyes in deep relief, grateful that whoever was touching him had now stopped and was leaving him unmolested.

But when he opened his eyes again, Doctor Jones wished he hadn't bothered.

A face was inches away from his, bleached white with a wide, gleaming red grin, and not just any face.

He could feel the loose saggy skin beneath his jaw and chin wiggle as he swallowed thickly again, his eyes widening in fear, dread flooding his body. Oh, no. No, no, no. Not him. Not him.

He was an ex-patient that everyone spoke about in the building. A name that inspired both fear and dread; a name that belonged to someone considered too far gone, beyond help of any psychiatric treatment.

 _The Joker._

Time stopped for Doctor Jones when he suddenly found himself being crushed, sat on by The Joker, of all people, in the chair. The crazed man straddled him with both legs astride him, his cold hands coming up towards him, a feral animal growl leaving his metal mouth. He couldn't hold it in anymore. He just couldn't.

Doctor Jones went to scream while wiggling and kicking with his legs, hoping to unseat the freak.

The scream barely left his lips when The Joker clamped a hard hand over his mouth, leaning closer with another one of his unnerving laughs. Doctor Jones had no choice but to sit there, winded from struggling, with The Joker's palm pressed tightly over his mouth.

It was like a nightmare. No, worse than any nightmare. That face. That face was worse than any nightmare. It was the face of death. No one dealt with The Joker and came out of it alive.

He was going to die. God, no.

"Hello, Doctor. I'm assuming that you, uh..." The Joker's hand tightened around his chin, his greyish-blue eyes endless depths as Doctor Jones was forced to peer back into them. "...that you know who I am, hmm?"

Doctor Jones saw no point in lying. He nodded briskly, jerking his head up and down.

"You see, its the most... curious thing, Doctor." The Joker paused, sadistically, deliberately, it seemed. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes dancing, "I need your... help. Are you gonna be a good little boy and help me? Hmm?" Using his other hand, The Joker smacked Doctor Jones, palm flat, against his cheek.

He closed his eyes, wincing with a helpless grunt, his heavy breaths ricocheting back into his nostrils due to the way the deranged man was holding his mouth shut. His eyes had begun to water and he blinked compulsively against the tears.

"You gonna help me if I agree to move my hand away, Doctor...?" The Joker's eyes drifted to the brown fabric on his suede jacket, and Doctor Jones realized what he was doing then. His name badge. "Doctor... Harlon Jones?" A dreamy, drugged-out blank look clouded The Joker's face as his eyes rolled to the ceiling, making a new stream of shivers course through Doctor Jones's body. "Harlon?" The Joker repeated again, his voice low. His eyes closed momentarily, another strange smile parting his lips. "Harlon... _Harleen_... Oh, _Harleen_..."

It was the most unsettling sight Doctor Jones thought he had ever seen, and he'd seen a lot throughout his years of being a Doctor. As a Doctor high in demand at Gotham General Hospital, he had dealt with gruesome infections and gunshot wounds. The sight of those paled to watching the psychopathic man sitting on his lap now.

A noise Doctor Jones didn't think a human capable of making left the base of The Joker's throat as he tilted his head back, his eyes still clenched shut, his lips half-parted in a lovesick smile. " _Harleen_..." he breathed in a reverential growl, cracking his neck as what resembled a purr left him. "Where? _Where_...are... you?"

Snapping out of it, Doctor Jones jerked and whimpered against his palm as The Joker's eyes went back down to him again, that dreamy, distant look still present. Another laugh escaped his mouth.

"I'm gonna move my hand now, Doctor, and then you're going to help me find what I need to find," The Joker commanded. "Is that clear?"

Doctor Jones nodded emphatically, releasing a breath once The Joker did as he said, keeping his word. He slid his hand off his mouth, and Doctor Jones became aware that he could breathe so much easier now.

"Y-yes, I-I'll help you. Just _please_ , please don't kill me."

"Doctor... Harleen Quinzel." Just speaking the mere name out loud, Doctor Jones could tell it had an almost euphoric affect on the deranged clown-man. "Harleen Quinzel... Doctor." The Joker fell silent, eyeing Doctor Jones meaningfully. It occurred to him that he was beckoning him to speak.

But Doctor Harleen Quinzel? _Who_ was Harleen Quinzel?

"I... I don't know anyone called Harleen Quinzel."

A low hiss of frustration left The Joker's mouth, his nostrils flaring. Doctor Jones gulped loudly, shaking. He could tell he wasn't enjoying what he was telling him, but it was true. There was no staff member at the hospital currently who went by the name Harleen Quinzel.

"There's no one called Harleen Quinzel here at the hospital. I... I can't h-h-help you with that, I'm sorry!"

"Your sorry?" A wretched cry left Doctor Jones when The Joker grabbed at him, holding him down tightly with all his strength in the chair. "Your sorry, hmm?" he mocked, then laughed again, "Your _sorry_?"

He knew what was going to happen then. The tone of The Joker's voice, the look in his eyes... It said it all.

"Ah, such a shame..." The Joker sighed in exasperation, a hand disappearing into the inner pocket of his long purple, crocodile-skin trench coat, where it remained for several heart-pumping, paralyzing moments. "And here I was, thinking we were getting along so well, Doc. Thought we were gonna have a great friendship."

A shuddering sob erupted from Doctor Jones when he felt the brutal knock of cool gold metal against his forehead.

"Unfortunately for you... I, uh... I just have no more use for you." The Joker's red lips fell into half a frown, half a scowl. "If you can't help me find my Doctor then... well..." He heard the pistol cock. "It's... bye bye for now. Nighty, night!"

The very last thing Doctor Jones ever heard, was a harrowing laugh that sounded too much like a mournful cry. Then an earsplitting boom, before the end arrived, blood and brain matter splattering against the office walls.

* * *

 **A Week Before Arriving at Arkham...**

After that unsuccessful moment of searching for Doctor Harleen Quinzel, The Joker went through constant differing states of moods. He tended to his strip club as usual, trying to push aside that small stinging little part of him that craved to find his Doctor.

He went through fluctuating states, where one day, he decided he didn't need no Harleen again, that he was King, he was master and the master needed no one. Then the next day, he would find himself right back to where he started, on-edge and testy with wanting to find her.

The day the good news happened, he was at the strip club, sitting in his designated spot with the best view, hidden behind protective bulletproof glass while he waited impatiently for an associate to arrive. He moaned to himself as he lounged around on the two-seater couch, lifting a hand to rake his fingers through his slicked, bright green hair.

Jonny was approaching through the crowd, his strides brisk and urgent.

"I know where she is. You wouldn't believe where." He patted The Joker on the shoulder, leaning down to talk in his ear through the music, "Apparently the reason we couldn't find her at any hospital was because she wasn't a fully registered Doctor at the time. She was studying psychiatry at Gotham University for six years."

The Joker felt a lick of excitement as he ran his tongue along his capped teeth once Jonny told him where to find his Doctor. They had found her, at last. It had taken them over three years straight and had resulted in the bloody carcasses of over twenty casualties, but finally, _finally_...

Where Jonny told him she had ended up was the biggest laugh of all.

He'd been an inpatient at Arkham Asylum twice already. To hear that she wasn't the sort of Doctor he had been looking for all along, that she was the crazy kind that liked to pick at your brains... He had it all planned out. One way or another, he was going to get his little Doctor Quinzel. What he wanted to do with her once he had her in his hands, he wasn't sure. A part of him wanted to hold her, treat her tenderly like she was a soft, precious little kitty-cat while another... wanted to hurt her and mess her around a little.

"Well, well, well, Jonny-Boy," The Joker rumbled out with a cackle as he stood, his mood shifting from determined to ecstatic, to angry. "It's time to take a little trip down memory lane to find my Doctor then, isn't it?"

* * *

 **Thank you so much. Wow. I am so shocked by the response, it made my day. And pushed me to try write another chapter out (even though I am supposed to be studying, haha)**

 **This was in Joker POV, which is pretty much setting the scene as to why he's back in Arkham, a bit AU from the movie. He's a tricky character to write, as is Harley, but I hope I did him justice somewhat. Telling me your thoughts would be most welcome! Thank you! I hope it isn't bad, I'm super nervous at writing this, so please take it easy on me.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The folder with the files and notes...

Harleen glanced around the dank room, lost. Her fingers were interlocked together so tightly in her lap that she could feel her long thumbnails almost penetrating through the thin layer of skin on her forefingers, yet if it was enough even to break through and draw blood, she couldn't be sure. For some reason, she couldn't feel anything below the neck.

It occurred to her belatedly that she'd forgotten the notes and his file, that she'd left them in a pile on her messy desk. She could feel a disconcerting squeezing sensation in her chest, as if someone had reached right through her and were now gripping at her heart in their hands. She felt suffocated. Discombobulated. Unprepared.

Now, she regretted more than ever the fact that she had senselessly left all the case files and notes of the patient on her desk.

She thought she had been prepared for this, that she was ready to put all her hard-earned work and study after majoring psychiatry at the University into practice, only nothing could ready her for this. She wondered if this was normal, if this was what everyone went through when they found their soulmate, so unexpectedly and at random. Did they feel just as lost and shocked as she did? Or was it just only her?

She assumed her predicament was rare, one of a kind. How many people could say that they crossed paths with their soulmate while they were there to treat them as an inpatient at a lunatic asylum?

She felt a tight pressure around her skull, as if an elastic band was wrapped around her forehead, making her head jerk and shake uncontrollably when she mustered up the courage to glance at the patient again. She found him watching her intently, his grayish-blue eyes focused on nothing else but her face as though he were memorizing every part of it, something like mirth dancing in them.

It seemed The Joker was holding in his breath as he leaned forward in his chair, as far as his restraints would allow, his eyes seeming to be searching her face for something it revealed about itself.

What was he looking for? Harleen wondered, her head twitching again as she swallowed against a dry lump that had formed in the back of her throat. Did he even know what the tattoos meant for them?

Did he know what it meant- just what they were destined to become? Or did he not even care?

Sociopath, she remembered suddenly, one of the diagnosis in his case file. He was a sociopath.

Did he even feel anything at all about this? Was he even capable of it? Feeling deeply about somebody at all?

His violet lips parted, metal flashing on his teeth as the noise erupted out between them, bouncing hauntingly off the four walls in the room, "Ha. Ha. Ha." The laugh was slow and deep, resembling a growl.

Harleen thought it sounded triumphant, as if the patient was feeling happy about something. Like he'd accomplished a secret mission and Harleen was the unknowing butt of the joke.

As she forced herself to not shy away and withdraw from his gaze, she could feel her tummy start with that warm, tingling sensation again. The apples of her cheeks lifted as the corners of her lips twitched. Immediately conscious of what she was doing and of how it might be interpreted, that she may be encouraging him if she let herself do it at the sound of his laughter, she pressed her lips together tight, refraining from letting her smile show.

Yanking her fingers out from their stiff, interlocked position in her lap, Harleen rested both elbows on the cool steel table, mirroring him, her spine arching off the chair towards him herself, her armpits feeling damp with sweat.

"Didn't you...uh... _hear me_ the first time, Doctor?"

She hadn't even realized how close she was getting to him when she felt his hot breaths blow against her forehead and her nose from across the table, tickling her when he spoke the words.

A loose strand of her blonde hair blew in front of her glasses, a tendril she'd missed when putting her hair up that morning before coming into the asylum for the meeting. Their heads were barely inches away from each other's, his eyes boring into hers. It was as if she was having some sort of out-of-body experience, as if she was being drawn to him, pulled to him like a magnet.

"I asked if your friends call you Harley?" He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth loudly, his voice shaky with amusement. "Kitty cat got your tongue, _Doctor_ Quinzel?" He laughed again, and Harleen noticed how he pronounced certain words with dramatic flair and overemphasised them. "Thought all you Doctor types were supposed to be real... _real_ intellectuals?"

Just like that, she snapped out of it. The question seemed to bring Harleen out of whatever trance she was suffering through, and she pulled back, pushing her spine back into the hard chair.

She felt embarrassed, mortified at how quickly she had seemed to forget herself and just where she was. She was at Arkham and he was her patient. The guard was still standing outside the door, watching over them and their interactions.

It was inappropriate, what she'd just done, in getting close. She didn't even know how it had happened, but all she could rationalize it with, was that she felt an undeniable, instant pull to him. It was terrifying, but she felt it there in the atmosphere, calling her to him.

She cleared her throat loudly, bringing up a hand to tuck that small piece of wayward hair back behind her earlobe. All the while, she could still feel him watching her, staring, observing...

His words came back to her, those six words she had memorized by heart and had stuck in her head ever since she was 22 and the mark had first formed across her belly, in the vibrant green ink.

She used to be so excited at the idea of finally understanding what context the question would be said in once she'd found her soulmate.

She knew now what context those words were said in and Harleen realized how naive she must have been. The question was a knowing taunt as it left his mouth and it soured and marred whatever little romantic notions she'd had.

It was as if he knew all along what she had been waiting for her soulmate to say and now he was rubbing it all into her face spitefully. He was making fun of her.

Determination filtering through her, Harleen set her jaw, swiveling her eyes on the man in front of her.

"Oh, I... I don't have a lot of friends," she admitted once she felt capable of speaking again, pleased when her voice sounded stronger with a hint of a bite, her Brooklyn accent becoming more pronounced with her anger, "So I wouldn't even begin to know what people dare to call me behind my back."

"Well, _Harley_... you got one now." His tone sounded as if he believed he was doing her a great service, and when Harleen brought her gaze back up to him, The Joker had his head angled to the side as he seemed to watch her every reaction.

This was not at all what she had expected to happen. Admittedly, Harleen had fantasized about this moment; both, meeting her soulmate _and_ having her first patient as a real psychiatrist.

This was going so far against how the script had played out in her mind, of both scenarios. For one thing, the lines between patient and soulmate were blurred.

Her eyebrows darted up as she rested both elbows on the steel tabletop, suddenly alert. "I got one, what?

"You know, a... a friend. 'Ol buddy, ol' pal, ol' friend of mine'." A rumbling dismissive grunt left his throat as he rolled his eyes and smiled at her. "Whatever you wanna call it..."

"Well, that's all very sweet of you, but I'm not exactly here to make friends with you," she pointed out gently, her voice far more hesitant than she would have liked it to sound.

But it was true; She wasn't here to be his friend or anything of the sort. It was an immediate conflict of interest; She had procedure to follow, and yet, she was expected to follow that procedure when he was supposed to be the very same man she was supposed to have a future with?

Harleen felt thrown off by the unforeseeable dilemma, to the point where acting normal was becoming increasingly difficult. It became hard to concentrate and do her job properly when, at the back of her mind, her head was reeling by the discovery that this man, out of all the other billion in the world, had happened to be her soulmate.

She glanced in his eyes tentatively before turning her head down, focusing on a stain on the steel table instead.

It was so much easier to maintain her professionalism when she didn't look directly at the man. She had to steer it onto the right path again. She had to take control of the situation.

"I'm your new psychiatrist, and firstly... before we get started," - she could see the written policy of Arkham's procedure at the back of her mind, her voice robotic and rapid as she said it by heart- "I feel I should warn you that whatever you say to me, in here, in confidence during our three forty-minute sessions weekly, it... it won't..." She paused nervously when she heard the bemusing sounds he was omitting; a reflection of what he felt of her statement.

The sounds he was making made her feel strangely warm inside. Harleen hadn't heard anything like it before. When she glanced at The Joker, she felt suddenly remorseful, as if she was intruding in on something private and was being rude, yet he seemed almost peaceful and serene.

"It... it won't be repeated to..." She fell silent again when more gurgling sounds left him.

He reminded her then of a cat in human form, comfortably basking in the sun, making repetitive throaty purring sounds while he leaned forward in the chair towards her, his head tilted as far back as it would humanly go, his entire throat bared to her.

She could see his lips were open in a somewhat peaceful grimace, the faint gleam of silver from his row of teeth as he kept his eyes tightly closed, his eyelids dark with black makeup.

Harleen caught glimpse of the soulmark tattoo in cursive blue on the side of his pale throat again as her cheeks burned. Should she put an end to their session already? She wondered, her eyes falling down to the time on her wrist-watch. Was that what he wanted? Their session had barely even begun, but it was obvious they wouldn't be getting anywhere today or make any significant immediate progress. The patient was bored; His behavior said as much.

Just when Harleen considered calling the session short and drowning in her failures, The Joker startled her by speaking. "Keep... going...with the chit-chat, Doc," he grunted out in a drugged out, husky voice.

He was like a boy she knew in school, Harleen thought. One of those boys that loved being the class clown, always being outrageous and doing disruptive things to annoy the teachers and people in authority. She almost laughed to herself. Harleen had always had a soft spot for those types of boys.

His eyes were still clenched closed as another noise left him. It sounded like a frustrated groan. Harleen watched as he jerked his head to the side, rubbing his earlobe against the rough fabric of the straitjacket desperately.

Tearing her eyes away from him, Harleen nodded once, despite knowing he couldn't see her. "Um, as I was saying, whatever you tell me in our sessions; it won't be repeated to nobody- unless its something that's like a threat to yourself or to me or anybody else here in the building, of course."

She let her blue eyes glide over to the patient again.

Harleen couldn't tell whether he was truly listening or not; He was grunting and mumbling, his bleached forehead crumpled in what appeared to her as irritation as he kept swiping his ear against the shoulder padding of the straitjacket while he rolled his head around on his neck.

What was he doing? Harleen couldn't help wondering. It was as if the patient had an extremely bad, severe itch that was bothering him. Was that why he was scratching his ear on his shoulder the way he was? Because he couldn't do it with his hands and fingers, seeing as they were restrained?

Harleen felt a wave of unstoppable pity course through her as she watched him battling with relieving an invisible itch. She supposed she could imagine how horrible it would be, needing to scratch something and not being able to.

She shook the thought away, using her fingers to correct her glasses. "Um, so... as I was telling you, I take patient confidentiality extremely seriously, so I just want you to be aware of that before we begin." Inhaling in deeply and steeling herself mentally, she risked a peek up at the patient again.

The patient. She would only dare let herself think of him as the patient. Not her soulmate, not anything else. Just _the patient_.

"I know that you've probably heard that loads of times from your previous two times of being here, but it's sort of compulsory to warn you." When he gave her no verbal cue to continue, she frowned. "You following me and what I'm telling you, Mr... Joker?" She rested her hands on the table, leaning slightly forward in the seat again.

It was the first time she had allowed herself to address him by his name ever since stepping foot into the room with him. It seemed to roll off her tongue pleasantly, making a tingling sensation prickle and dance across her skin. She saw The Joker abruptly stop sliding his ear back and forth on the stark-white fabric of the straitjacket as the name left her mouth, his lips curling into a wide grin as a long, deep groan of appreciation left him.

When he reopened his eyes slowly to focus on her, Harleen felt suddenly as if he was a wild animal. It was as if he wanted to devour her up, like she was a piece of meat, his grayish-blue eyes twinkling.

"Name sounds good on your lips, Doctor," he rumbled out longingly. "Just like a lullaby." His eyes lit up, an unidentifiable emotion forming in them. "There _is_ something you could do for me, Doctor Quinzel. An... itty-bitty little favor. You wanna be a doll and do it for me?"

Harleen hesitated, deliberating. She turned her head towards the window, checking to see whether the guard was still there. She could see the man through the glass, his arms folded over his uniform. He was monitoring them, ensuring everything went to plan and that The Joker didn't step out of line with her.

She dragged her eyes back to the patient in front of her, feeling disgracefully curious. "What?" she asked, licking her lips.

"Well..." He licked his own lips with his tongue, moistening them as he moved his head from side to side, and she thought she heard his neck crack along with the movement. "If you'd be so kind..." She saw his eyes dart to the window himself, seeking out the guard. "I got a little, uh... problem that Doctor Quinzel can cure." His eyes returned to her, his voice going high, deeper, with excitement. "You want to get rid of it for me?"

Harleen felt a different sort of mischievous thrill shoot through her at what was happening; Something she hadn't felt before. Whatever he wanted her to do, whatever favor, it made her feel deliciously naughty. As if she was being deviant; the chance of them getting caught and the repercussions she would have to face exhilarating.

She figured the chances of him becoming a danger to her limited. He was restrained in the straitjacket, after all. They also shared soulmarks; a sign that they were destined to spend the rest of their future together, no matter how odd it was that he was her patient and, by all medical prognosis, insane.

Harleen hadn't heard of any soulmates dying at the hands of their marked one. It seemed a simple enough risk to take. Besides, what was the worst that could happen?

Harleen sat up, resting all her weight on her elbows, her glasses falling to the edge of her nose. "What exactly are you wanting me to do for you, Mr Joker?" _Mr Joker._ It felt awkward coming from her voice. She wished he would demand that she call him by something else.

He clenched his eyes shut again momentarily, a heavy long grunt escaping his mouth as he sighed at the use of his name falling from her lips.

Harleen found it rather nice. He liked the sound of her voice. She could tell, and maybe, if she was honest, Harleen found herself just as fond of the little noises he made.

"I got a bad case of the tingles." He laughed shortly, then snarled through gritted teeth in annoyance, hitting the same ear against the padding of the straitjacket. "You wanna make it go away for me? Hmm?"

"Where?" she asked uncertainly. "Your... your left ear?"

"Oh, no. _No_ , my..." He trailed off into a low murmur that she couldn't hear, but she realized she hadn't needed him to completely explain the origin of that tingle.

Harleen felt her heart burst and sing silently at his words. So she wasn't the only one, apparently. Every now and then, her stomach would give off a light fluttering sensation over the permanent mark, as if it was simply responding to The Joker's gruff voice alone.

She could only just imagine how difficult it must be, not being able to soothe the itch, the burning. It was reassuring to her that she wasn't alone in this, that he felt certain things as well. He may be considered a dangerous sociopath, but he couldn't be all that, could he? He felt it, too. He had to.

"Sure. I suppose I can do that," she murmured, agreeing.

She darted a look at the guard again, then she stood, moving from her chair slowly, her heels clacking on the concrete floor as she edged towards him.

The Joker watched her every movement with his eyes. She saw them rake down her body, taking a hungry inspection of her dressed in her blouse and neat skirt, before they returned to her face again. He lifted his chin high in the air, baring his throat and mark to her.

 _My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel..._

Tentatively, she reached out, her fingers outstretched. The instance her fingers brushed against the Adam's apple of his throat, she felt the pale muscles twitch as he swallowed, a low intake of breath leaving his lips. His capped silver teeth seemed to grin and wink at her, as did his eyes, when she glided her hand across to his mark. His skin felt smooth and cool beneath the tips of her fingers.

The light bulb above them on the ceiling creaked and made a sizzling noise, but Harleen paid that no mind. She found herself too wrapped up in the moment.

"Feeling better now, Mr. Joker?"

"Oh, yes. You're so good. _So... good_."

When she reached the beginning of the soulmark, another hiss left him, a growl that sounded both of pleasure and relief. He closed his eyes again, tilting his head like a dog that enjoyed having the spot between his ears scratched, as she traced along the cursive blue lines that spelled out her name with her fingers.

Just like hers, the ink felt layers deep into the skin. She could feel reverberations through his throat, and then realized curiously that it was because he was moaning quietly. He enjoyed her touching him, maybe as much as Harleen thought she did, surprisingly.

 _It was then it happened._

The light bulb made another sizzling noise, then it shorted out, the round bulb smashing into little pieces, sending shards of glass shattering around them as the entire room fell into a shadowy darkness.

Harleen moved back in her heels unsteadily, an uncontainable shriek of fright leaving her as instinctively she reached up with her arms, covering her face and her hair so that she wouldn't get cut. Through the loud sound of her heart hammering in her ears like a hammer being beaten against a rock, her breaths laboured, she heard The Joker cackle, his laughter like a soothing balm over the unexpectedness of what had just happened.

Feeling brave enough, Harleen brought her arms down, sliding one hand down to cover her chest in alarm while the other she moved over her hair, sweeping pieces of glass away. She wondered if it had been the skin-on-skin contact between them that had been the main cause of the lightbulb shorting out and smashing, sending glass dancing around them.

If so, how could touch be so enticingly destructive?

 **Here's another chapter. :D Hope it was all right, super nervous yet again. Whoa, thank you all so much for being so kind! I am so blown away! Thank you! Again, I would love to know your thoughts and feelings. Liking it? Hating it? Things I need to work on? Any advice? It's most welcome as I'm not sure if I'm doing justice to the characters and their story.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Harleen raced towards the women's restrooms as her heart pounded relentlessly, the click of her stilettos echoing along the concrete corridors. Her steps faltered slightly when she heard two men approaching from the opposite end of the corridor, their voices muted while they engaged in everyday typical conversation about their plans for the weekend.

Her armpits felt sweaty beneath her blouse, her mouth dry. Tendrils of blonde hair stuck to her flushed forehead and she could feel sweat beading on her upper lip. But above all that, she felt shaky and weak at the knees, as if her blood sugar levels had plummeted severely after her first ever interaction with her soulmate and Harleen were on the near verge of fainting.

 _The Joker, of all people..._

 _Her soulmate!_

She inhaled in deeply and relaxed and dropped her shoulders out of their tense stature as she finally caught a glimpse of the two men that the voices had belonged to as they walked in a leisurely pace towards her. Harleen could feel the dread eating away at her insides, turning her body to stone as she tried to appear nonchalant and much like her regular self.

A part of her feared she had been found out; that the two men were coming to get her, that they knew who her soulmate now had happened to be due to watching over their interactions in the room together during the forty-minute session and they were now going to lock her up in the asylum right along with him, deeming her loony.

The closer the men got along the corridor towards her, the more Harleen felt tempted to just turn back around and break out into a run, fleeing from the men to avoid the situation and forced interaction with them altogether.

She needed to be alone right now, more than anything. Her brain felt swamped, overwhelmed with various bits of information she had tried to process during the session with The Joker.

She felt drained, both mentally and physically. She wasn't sure if it was normal for people to feel this way after first having met and come across their soulmates, but it was simply the way she felt.

But no, she was being ridiculous, she told herself, shaking her head a little while she stared at the men as they approached closer and closer. Surely it was just plain old paranoia at work. They couldn't know The Joker was her soulmate and they weren't coming down the corridor to institutionalize her. It was impossible.

She moved her mouth muscles, forcing a strained, parted-lipped smile on her face, baring her teeth, despite being three meters away from the men in the old, mold-infested corridor. It was the face Harleen regularly used to make an impression on someone, especially her colleagues and the staff; She wanted to show that she was approachable and willing to make conversation, yet, at the same time, she couldn't give half a damn whether people talked to her or flat-out ignored her.

Her hands felt suddenly too twitchy so she clasped them in front of her stomach tightly, holding them protectively over her stomach where her soulmark was beneath the thin light blue fabric of her blouse, aware they were trembling.

 _Get yourself together, Harleen,_ she began chanting to herself in her head, the nearer the men got, their conversation faltering unnervingly at the sight of her. _They don't know nothing so get yourself together._

"Morning, boys," she forced herself to speak softly, and the men returned her greeting with a brisk nod before they passed her quickly.

Harleen shut her eyes, the nauseous feeling of panic immediately leaving her when the guards did not stop or return back to her. _Oh, thank God,_ she thought to herself, breathing out through her lips shakily. _You were just being paranoid, you dope. Told you so._

Immediately, she let her good-natured, hammy smile drop, the muscles on her cheeks aching. Finally, she found the restrooms. Stopping near the door, she raised her hand, pushing it halfway open with her palm as she glanced behind her shoulder back the way the men had passed her in the corridor, just for reassurances sake.

The men were nowhere to be found.

She finally began to feel calm once she pushed her way inside the restrooms.

She moved towards the sink, switching on the faucet to run a cool stream of water into it. She removed her glasses, placing them carefully on the edge of the counter before she bent down, cupping water into her hands, splashing her too-hot face. Once she felt cooler and back to as normal as she could possibly get after what had transpired, she shut off the running tap and turned blindly towards the paper towels, her face dripping wet and droplets of water running down her chin.

She dabbed around her eyes and at her forehead, then brought her gaze up to her reflection, peering back into her own blue eyes curiously. She hadn't needed her glasses for medical purposes; In fact, she could see perfectly. Her vision wasn't hazy without them and she could see fine at both short and long distance, but Harleen enjoyed wearing them. She found that people took her more seriously when she wore the glasses, that people viewed her more favorably and treated her the way she wanted to be treated- as a professional, an intelligent and ambitious young woman.

Harleen had almost expected to look different, as if having met her soulmate would have changed her and immediately altered her appearance aesthetically.

She felt a curious sense of disappointment at how much like her regular, usual self she looked, if yet a bit pink in the cheeks. Her pupils were dilated and black, overriding the color of her irises. Aside from all that, she appeared exactly the same, with no noticeable changes to her appearance. She figured that was another belief that made her silly and naive in her thinking; Of course there would be no magical differences to a person's physical appearance.

Reaching down, she picked up her glasses, slipping them back on, pushing them up above her nose. That's when she saw it. She tilted her head curiously, opening and closing her fingers as she moved her hand to the side. Barely dried red blood was smeared across the middle knuckle on her left hand, probably from the glass on the light bulb smashing. She hadn't even known she'd gotten cut. She hadn't even felt it at the time.

Harleen glided the fingers on her right hand towards it, finding the source of the blood. There was a tiny cut there, barely noticeable. She pressed her thumbnail into the cut, feeling it open up and sting anew, the pain sharp and hot. A foreign sound Harleen hadn't heard come from herself in quite some time erupted from the back of her throat, her body convulsing, her stomach muscles clenching.

Her hand flew up to her lips in shock as the sound happened again, the blood dribbling down along the back of her hand with the movement. Her brain filled with gushing endorphins, the serotonin flowing, making her feel good despite the dull sting in her hand. Since Harleen was alone in the female restrooms and she knew it was safe to do it, she let it come out freely, a breathless emotional giggle escaping her as she pressed the pads of her fingers to her lips, trying to hopelessly stifle it down.

She hadn't let herself laugh this much in months, especially not at work.

But it was overwhelming- the joy, the shock.

She had finally met her soulmate. And while Harleen couldn't have lied to herself and said it was everything and more that she had hoped for, she was filled with utter relief that it had now happened, no matter how unconventional it may be, the circumstances.

No longer, did she have to wait and stress.

He was here, in her life, at last.

And he was her patient in Arkham Asylum, Home for the Mentally Insane.

* * *

It was dark once Harleen finally reached home to her apartment.

She unlocked the door, greeted to an empty, lonesome house as she slid inside. She re-locked the front door, dropping her set of keys onto the mahogany side table near opposite the wall of the door while she shrugged out of her jacket, humming to herself. She reached up to hang her jacket on the steel coat-rack, then she clicked on the old antique lamp in the center of the table, a warm yellow light illuminating and basking her surroundings. Humming another tune to herself, she kicked and toed off her heels, then swiped them with her foot beneath the table out of the way. As she liked to do every single time she returned home, Harleen strode around her one-bedroom apartment, flicking on the lights in all of the rooms.

Nothing looked different, as far as she could tell. Everything in the place looked fine and like how she had left it before leaving early for work that morning.

Satisfied, she headed straight for the bathroom, plugging in the tub before running water into it. She'd been looking forward to this all day. For coming home and soaking in the bathtub, letting the hot water warm her bones while she relaxed and mulled over the events of the day she'd just had.

She took off her glasses, setting them down on the bench while she yanked the elastic hairband out of her hair. She worked her fingers through the lengths of it, letting the strands fall down her back and shoulders in platinum blonde waves. Then she got undressed, unbuttoning her blouse and wiggling out of her skirt and stockings.

Unclasping her bra and pulling down her underwear, Harleen turned to glance down at the bathtub again. It was almost full, the line of steaming water reaching dangerously close to the end of the porcelain tub. She bent over to switch the tap off, then she stepped in carefully, the hot water biting at her ankles and making her skin immediately break out in a red rash from the heat. She didn't mind that, though. The heat.

Gripping the sides of the tub with her hands, Harleen sank into the water, closing her eyes as a deep hiss tore through her teeth. She rested the rear of her head against the hard porcelain, lying back. There was nothing quite like getting home and relaxing in a bathtub filled with scalding hot water. Her toes had felt sore all day from being pinched and compressed in her heels. Now, the ache and tenderness had left them as she curled them under the water, twiddling her toes.

For a few minutes, she just sat, allowing her body to fully relax, for her mind to unwind. She kept her eyes pressed tightly closed, the steam from the water causing moisture to gather on her forehead and above her lip. The harrowing silence that filled the apartment was so obvious that Harleen could begin to feel her ears start to ring faintly, beneath her eyelids immersed in complete darkness.

Harleen could feel an irritating tickling sensation from the moisture dripping on her upper lip, invading in on the peacefulness she felt, and she brought up her hand to wipe it away carelessly with her fingers, startled when the contact of her fingers brushing against her mouth brought an unexpected but pleasant tingle through her body.

She heard his laughter, floating through her head, in her head. The memory of it was brought on so suddenly, so vividly. She almost felt as if she was with him again, right in that room, listening to him. It made her belly muscles clench and tighten when she let herself think of him, of how he looked like, while she kept her eyelids tightly closed.

 _"Do your friends call you Harley?"_

His voice, high-pitched and gruff. The way he spoke, emphasizing certain words dramatically, as if he were a radio announcer, a clown in a circus performance.

Harleen hadn't planned for it to happen, but here it was. She hadn't done it in months, not even in years, but surprisingly she didn't feel a single bit guilty of letting it happen now. She didn't care whether it would be considered natural or unnatural. He was her soulmate and she'd gone without it so long, she was craving a release.

With her eyes closed, she imagined it were him and not her. Relaxing her grip on the sides of the tub and moving her hands away, she used her fingers, caressing herself, the long strands of her blonde hair floating around her shoulders in the water like a net. First, she cupped her breasts, then ran her fingers over the intricate, vivid green lines of the soulmark on her stomach.

 _"I got a little, uh... problem that Doctor Quinzel can cure. You want to get rid of it for me?"_

It was not her hands touching her, but... _his_. She tried to picture what his hands must look like, since she hadn't the fortune of glancing at them that morning as they had been concealed in the unyielding white fabric of the straitjacket. It was difficult to imagine what his hands must look like, but she imagined them slender and pale. And strong. Forceful. Needy. Relentless.

 _"Oh, yes. You're so good. So... good."_

A soft, desperate moan escaped as Harleen's mouth opened, breathing in humid air. She felt her eyes sting beneath the lids as she moved one hand lower, her fingers finding where she needed it the most. No, not her fingers. _His_ fingers.

She felt like a depraved, helpless animal as she lost herself in the moment, the image of his face filling her mind. It was delicious agony. It wasn't her, it was... _him_.

His face was right in front of her, inches away, bleached white, fluorescent green hair, his violet lips parted as he breathed hoarsely, his metal teeth shining at her. The look in his grayish-blue eyes... Harleen imagined them wide, frenzied, crazed and building with lust, his pupils fully dilated.

She cried out, her back arching in the tub, curling under the water as it sloshed around her, clenching... Something wet and warm gathered on her eyelashes, clinging to them, before trickling down her cheeks, rolling to her lips as she held her mouth open, shuddering, gasping for air. She tasted salt as she rubbed her tongue along her top lip and realized it was her very own tears.

It had been too long since she had let herself partake in something like this. _Far_ too long. But she'd been saving herself for her soulmate, she rationalized. It was for him. _All_ for him. Her soulmate. A mad-man, her first patient at the asylum where she worked at as his psychiatrist. A sociopath. A mentally unstable criminal. And what did that make her if she found intense gratification in permitting herself to do this to herself at the mere thought of him?

* * *

 **Thank you so, so much. I am so flattered by how amazing and kind you all are. I have tried to respond and personally thank you all in a message, the ones that have reviewed that I could write to, but if I haven't gotten around to it or missed anyone, I apologize and thank you now. You've really made my day!**

 **This chapter was hard to write, for obvious reasons haha. I do hope it was okay? I would love to know your thoughts, any advice or constructive criticism you have to offer me, as I am in no way confident as a writer and am not too sure about this chapter. Was it really bad? Disappointing? I feel it was... so I apologize. Harleen's going to be conflicted for a while, and I want her transformation to be gradual. Sorry, next chapter will have more Harley/Joker interaction as well as The Joker's thoughts on finally meeting his Doctor. I just wanted to get a chapter out as I have a lot of assignments to study for.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The Joker sat in the hard, cool chair, his back aching, shoulders stiff from their convoluted positioning in the straitjacket, as he watched his little Doctor Quinzel dismiss herself from the room.

It was a real treat, a real show, watching her go.

He tilted his head to the side, a low groan leaving his throat as he watched her leave; the back of her navy blue skirt wrinkled around her knees; her blonde ponytail flopping enthusiastically along with her movements.

He almost whistled appreciatively out loud to himself as his Doctor made her exit, until he heard the guard enter the room. Glass from the broken light bulb crunched beneath the soles of his shoes with every step the guard took to get to where The Joker sat, tickling him again privately.

What had just happened, not only with Doctor Harleen Quinzel touching him, but with the light bulb smashing in, with the room going dramatically dim as though they were having their own sappy romantic dinner date; it had been... glorious. A real thrill.

"Goddamn it," he heard the guard curse from behind him. "What a mess that I now have to spend time cleaning up. What the hell happened in here?" As if only just remembering he was there, The Joker felt a light smack on the back of his scalp from the guard's hand as he hit him in warning. "Yeah, yeah. Don't you start on me now, you freak," the guard muttered, as if knowing his reply ahead of time.

 _Gah, these guards._ They could be so... boring. Didn't anyone want to play anymore?

"Come on, let's go. Move it, clown," his babysitter grumbled, grabbing him beneath both armpits in the straitjacket, hauling him up off the chair onto his feet to escort him back to his room. "On your feet. Let's get to it."

He wasn't going to make it easy. Tonguing around the top row of his capped silvery teeth, The Joker purposefully dragged his feet, letting his shins go limp, the sound of shards of glass scratching on the concrete floor like a beautiful symphony.

Amusement tingling at the back of his throat, he suffocated a laugh by puffing out his cheeks and holding it in when the guard resorted to man-handling him with full-force, dragging him along with more brutality. _Oh, these boys. Always so testy._

The sight that greeted him out of the room and into the corridor made his eyes almost roll back into his head. _There she was._

Doctor Harleen Quinzel was barely halfway to the end of the corridor, her walk determined, the furious clicking of her heels echoing all the way back down the hallway to where he was being dragged behind her. Even with just the way she walked, with a little oblivious swing to her backside and her hips, it was such a pretty, pretty dainty sight.

He stared at the back of her nicely shaped head, at the way her ponytail bobbed.

Already, he could tell he was going to enjoy this. It was going to be a blast, watching her unravel at the seams while he picked her apart. His little toy, given to him by this foolish and sappy concept called soulmates.

Watching her head and the back of her body as she went, he felt a strange... tenderness brew up inside of him- and usually, The Joker felt anything but tender.

One part of him wanted to get Doctor Harleen at his side so that he could tenderly cradle that gorgeous head of hers.

Another side of him wanted to hold his gun to her forehead so that he could splatter her brain all over the walls.

The warring needs, so at odds with each other to varying degrees and extremities, were... confusing. Irritating.

At least he'd found her now and he knew exactly where she was...

She was right where he needed her. All he had to do was put his plans into play.

Now, if he could just get through an entire month of staying at Arkham. He'd arranged with Jonny in advance that he'd be staying at Arkham for no more than a month, and then once the end date arrived, Jonny would bring in the big guns to tear the Asylum apart.

He figured a month was all the time he needed for his little game to work. He just needed to let the bird out of the cage so it could fly free.

And hopefully, that bird was already halfway ready to roam free and flutter her wings out into the big world. The mere joyful thought alone made a wide grin cross his mouth as it bounced and knocked around his skull, the idea of little Doctor Quinzel being set free. _It couldn't be long now..._

"Something funny, clown?" He heard the guard grumble, and the man's hand tightened around his arm through the unyielding layer of stark-white fabric on the straitjacket, his fingers crushing his skin as he shoved him down along another hallway. Arkham was like a fortress, with his Queen Doctor long gone now. "Yeah, you keep on laughing and then you'll be sorry."

It was ironic; how these guards viewed themselves as men that held such power and authority. They expected patients to be afraid of them, to be quivering in their boots.

It made him want to break out into fits of giggles; If he were back out on the streets, reigning his usual terror over Gotham, The Joker wouldn't have hesitated twice to shoot the guy down to show him who was truly King here between the two of them.

"Oh? Is that so, hmm?" The Joker couldn't resist toying with the man. "Well, you got me really scared now! I'm so... _so_ _scared..._ that my bones are rattling with all them-" He paused deliberately, savoring the annoyance flickering in the guards eyes, the reddening of his face, before he finished theatrically, "-blah blah blah sounds you're making!"

The guards fingers tightened over the back of his arm in warning, yet all he felt was barely the dullest ache. He couldn't resist the part he enjoyed the most.

Like a king, a boss, he always relished getting real close, invading a man's personal space- because, for him, for the master, the concept of personal space did not apply to him. It was his very own way of asserting dominance, and he knew it unnerved them above all else.

Despite the guard holding him back away from him with full-strength and being strapped up uncomfortably, awkwardly, tight in the straitjacket, The Joker managed to get his face close to the guards, their noses near to touching.

"You ever learn to zip that mouth of yours?" He asked mockingly. "Zippity zip zip? Hmm?" He was so close to the guard that he could smell the sweat pouring out of his pores, the grease. "I'm telling you... _one_ of these days... all that blabbering is gonna get you badly hurt..."

He didn't see it coming when the guard shoved him against the hard white wall in the corridor. His back and sides collided against the white brick as he staggered backwards. The pain was instant and sharp, and as The Joker breathed in deeply through his nose, he felt a stabbing pain crawl up around his rib.

The guard was silent, watching him expectantly with hard, angry eyes as The Joker regained his balance, rolling his head around on his shoulders.

He could tell the guard wanted him to show some outwards demonstration of pain. Perhaps to even see him cry and beg for a nurse. Instead, he smiled, a laugh tearing through his mouth as he witnessed the guard recoil at the sound.

"Wow, I've seen a lot during my time of working here, but _you_..." The guard blubbered in amazement, " _You_ really do take the cake, you green-haired freak! You deserve to be locked up here for the rest of your life."

The Joker stared back, unflinchingly; his red lips still pulled back in a grin as the guard ran his eyes over his face and down the front collar of the straitjacket, glorious fear and alarm reflecting back at him in them. Then he heard the faintest gasp of disbelief escape the guard, leaving The Joker more than just a little... lost and frazzle.

"You've got to be kidding me," the guard spat out, and he brought his hand up, tugging the stiff collar on the jacket down forcefully, pressing his grubby, meaty hot fingers into The Joker's throat, touching the place where The Joker loathed to be touched most these days. "How does a deranged freak like you get to have his own soulmark? As if a true headcase like you can even feel. And Harl...?" The guard came closer, battling to read the light blue, curled lines of his mark. " _Doctor_? My name is Doctor... Harleen... Quin..."

If Jonny had been there, he would have warned the guard that it was his first and final fatal mistake.

There was a strict code to abide by when dealing with The Joker; a code that a man had to honor and live by if he wanted to not only survive, but keep their business dealings running smoothly.

Number one: Under no circumstances any hand shaking. Number two: No senseless sweet-talking to get into his good books.

The Joker liked to think grandly of himself often as an excellent judge of character that could see through even the most proficient of tattle-tellers.

And thirdly, _biggest rule_ of all...

No mentioning of the soulmark on the side of his neck that showed through the collars of his shirts and jackets while trying to engage in senseless bantering to try and loosen him up. More than that, certainly no speaking aloud the name that was worn on it like a badge he couldn't get off.

His soulmark was not something The Joker was proud of, ever since it had developed and he had noticed it that fateful morning. He didn't like wearing his heart on his sleeve, so to speak.

But with the mark there, he had no choice. By the soulmark being in a place visible to most wandering eyes, it showed his vulnerabilities, his soft edges. Something he could not afford to let people see. Yet, there it was, always, _always_...

The ever-present thorn in his side. The irritating twang in his tooth cavity.

 _Doctor Harleen Quinzel..._

It was the highest demonstration of disrespect, in The Joker's eyes, to comment on another man's soulmark, to even utter the words out loud, no less.

The name was sacred- something only he was allowed to speak out loud first; Jonny being the rare exception to that rule. Now, this guard was marring it and tainting it, making his soulmark sound like a bad, rotten joke.

Hot anger flashed, pounding in his head. Being king meant that he could afford to do whatever he pleased, that he were without rules and free of societies tight little constraints.

He had never cared much for living by societies rules and regulations. He didn't care about conformity, and he wasn't going to start now, all simply because his Doctor was in his life.

The Joker grit his teeth, a snarl rippling through them as he shook his head to the side, mockingly, tauntingly. "Oh, that's going to cost you."

Without warning, he lunged on one foot, striking like a snake, knocking his forehead into the guard's. The guard bounced off the wall and went down on all fours, toppling easily like a Domino, and The Joker laughed before striking again, her name ringing in his head like one of the rap songs he used to listen to at the strip club.

 _Harleen Quinzel... Doctor... Harleen..._

 _Harley... Quinzel..._

Blood splashed and flicked in his eyes as he hit and hit, using his skull like a baseball bat; the guard mumbling and crying out. An invisible crowd whooped and cheered in his head, egging him on. Once he could tell that the guard was out cold, The Joker stopped, standing over him, his breathing heavy. His green hair had come out of its usual orderly, sleek fashion; his fringe falling into his eyes, sticking to all the blood on his forehead.

"Harley Quinn," he breathed out raggedly, reverentially, into the empty corridor in a sing-song, deep voice, peering down at the unconscious guard while he tried to regain his breath after the sudden impulsive burst of frenetic activity. _Hmm, Harley Quinn._ It had definite possibilities. A nice, cheeky little ring to it.

Arkham Asylum lost one member of its security staff that night.

* * *

 _"Play with me..."_

A woman's girlish, desperate voice wafted through The Joker's ears; a mournful, childish cry as he felt his head being moved, being dropped against a soft padded cloth.

 _"Play with me, Mr. Joker. Come on... I'm bored."_

Everything was aching, and he grumbled, disorientated.

He moved his head side to side, hearing a crack from a joint as it resounded in his ears. He let his eyes open a peek, peering through his lashes.

Bright white light blinded him, dazzling him momentarily as he groaned again in annoyance, shutting his eyes, shielding them away.

His neck was aching. His entire body as well, as if he'd just done a bout of vigorous exercise. His head and throat were hurting, especially. It was as though he'd laughed far too loudly and far too much.

 _"Play with me..."_

That voice came to him again, innocent and goading, floating over and around him like pleasant background music. Bracing himself against that irksome light, he turned his head towards her voice, cracking his eyes open again reluctantly.

This time, he found her.

Doctor Harleen Quinzel.

She hovered over him, her face the only thing above him as she leaned on her elbow, cradling the side of her face, her chin, in her hand.

Only she didn't look like the Doctor he had seen during his session; the one so tightly-wrung and bound to conformity.

Her hair was down, long, unkempt and white, strands cascading around her face and shoulders in waves as if she was a wild, untamed woman, free as a bird. A peculiar ethereal glow surrounded her, making her look all heavenly.

 _"What are you waiting for? Play with me!"_

She bared her teeth down at him in a wide, gleaming grin as a small maniacal giggle escaped her, flashing her pearly whites as she wiggled her pinkie finger at him in greeting. Like a record on repeat, she laughed again, that same old eye-crinkling giggle, over and over, and over.

The Joker hadn't even realized he had joined her, until he felt his body convulse and shake, his head tilted back. Their laughter mingled, his and hers, joining together, echoing along the room.

He was laughing so hard that he could feel his eyes starting to well up at the corners with tears, until he stopped abruptly, choking on air. Gone. Her laughter was gone, just like that, and the silence was brutal. Like listening to a pounding, ear-splitting baseline, only for it to abruptly be cut-off, making the ears tingle and pound. Lifting his head up off the unknown piece of soft padding again, he groaned miserably, glancing around.

Walls of white padding made up his new room. Solitary confinement after the little stunt he had pulled with the guard.

His shoulder was aching, one more so than the other, and when he glanced down at it curiously, finding himself dressed in his boring blue prison jumpsuit, he saw the small round cotton-bud taped into the crook of his forearm, probably from where someone had injected sedatives or some sort of happy pill in liquid-form into him before putting him in the seclusion room.

Growling out a heavy sigh, he leaned his head back against the wall dejectedly at the lost image of her, his red lips falling into a deep frown.

 _Where was she now? Where? How long until their next session?_

 ** _Sorry, I decided I would do separate chapters of their POV's as I feel I would get lost otherwise haha. Next chapter will definitely be them being in the same room together again, interacting. I hope this one was okay? I'm so nervous when I try to write The Joker, so I hope he's still somewhat true to character. Probably not, but I tried. :) I wanted to have him hallucinating about his Harley Quinn, but I have a feeling I failed with showing that. Pretty tricky to write haha, so please take it easy on me if its bad._**

 ** _Thank you so much for being such lovely people and for being so encouraging._**

 ** _I think I'm not as nervous to update now, thanks to how wonderful you all are, though I still am quite a lot. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that it isn't a let-down. Your thoughts are most welcome and appreciated. Any suggestions of something I need to work on, etc, are always welcome too. Thank you!_**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Harleen's second session with her patient couldn't have come soon enough.

That morning, she felt twitchy with excitement, her heart racing, her fingers clenched painfully tight around the steering wheel as she made the twenty minute drive to the asylum in her car. She felt better prepared today than she had the day before; The car was filled with enough gas to get her to and from the Asylum, she'd remembered to pack herself something decent for lunch and, above all that, she now knew what to expect of the one patient assigned to her.

She didn't feel as much of a deer-caught-in-the-headlights this morning. Or like a scared, quivering rabbit as she had the day before, stepping into foreign soil. Everything was good.

Loosening one hands grip off the steering wheel, she moved her fingers towards her bag on the passenger's seat, keeping her eyes on the road through the windshield as she deftly found her pack of bubblegum. She grabbed a piece, her slender fingers curling it out of its wrapping. Bubblegum had become her obsession lately, though Harleen couldn't tell why that was.

Maybe it was the fact that it gave her something to do orally? Or maybe it was merely because the bubblegum offered her lubrication, preventing her mouth from going dry and her voice from going hoarse? She couldn't be sure. All she knew, was that it was like comfort for her, gnawing on a piece of bubblegum.

She popped the piece in her mouth, chewing, the immediate burst of sweet raspberry assaulting her taste-buds as she hummed along with the radio.

The traffic worked to her advantage this morning, moving at a consistent pace. Her session with The Joker didn't start until eleven, but she wanted to show up to work early, demonstrating her eagerness to whoever was there to see it.

Most normal people probably wouldn't have felt as happy to return to the decrepit, out-dated building of Arkham Asylum, a place that housed and treated Gotham's most unstable, volatile patients between its old walls, but Harleen did.

When Arkham approached nearer, she saw the high roof spilling out among the trees, opening up before her. While many thought the building was unnerving- she'd read an article in the _Gotham Times_ that they had considered tearing it down at one point and building a new one- Harleen had always loved the sight of it.

Arkham had been built in the late eighteenth century. Everything about it screamed Gothic. From the brick walls, to the numerous floors on the building. She crawled up to the gate in her car as she took in the sight of the building unfolding before her; the large black iron gates that were usually locked of an evening, keeping the houses inhabitants prisoners. Carefully maintained green grass stretched out for miles, hedges lining the first steps to the building.

And in that building, _somewhere_... was her soulmate.

Harleen breathed in shakily through her mouth, overwhelmed. She found a spot to park at the back entrance, and she gathered her handbag before climbing out of the car, looking up at the sky. It had said on the television this morning that there was a likelihood of it raining. Already, clouds had started to form, grey and murky, covering what little was left of the early morning sun.

Readjusting her glasses and tucking in her blouse, she walked in her heels towards the main entrance; the heels on her stilettos grounding against asphalt noisily.

She paused at the first few steps when she remembered the chewing gum in her mouth. Rule number one of staff: Never bring anything outside of work, into work where patients could find it. She caught it between her teeth, slipping her forefinger and thumb into her mouth, catching it. She pulled the gum out, stretching it as far as it would possibly go without breaking, before releasing her teeth's grip on it, discarding the gum behind a neatly shaped hedge. _Littering. Extremely classy._

With one last nervous glance behind her to make sure no one had seen her do it, she lifted her hand, turning the brass knob, entering inside the Asylum.

Her hands felt incredibly sweaty as she flung the strap of her handbag around her shoulder, so she wiped the backs of them down the sides of her skirt. Through an old archway, she went, towards the office she shared with other colleagues. Halfway towards the room, she could already hear some of the guards murmuring and talking. Usually the chatter wasn't so loud. Had something important happened, something Harleen had missed?

Pausing by the door for a second, Harleen breathed deeply through her mouth, trying to get her head straight. She wriggled her shoulders around, lifting up both hands to tighten the elastic band that held up her hair.

She had always had a distinct sense that, whenever she entered the building, she'd become someone far different than the person she was out of the building. Sometimes it was like she was two different people; At work, she was more serious and less playful, mainly because she wanted to show everyone around her that she was dedicated to this, that this was her dream career, and that this was where she belonged. Right here, right now, at Arkham.

Away from work, she couldn't have been more different. She enjoyed having a lighthearted giggle when by herself in her apartment, watching silly comedies. At work, she barely even laughed; aside from yesterday, of course. Her little laughing spell in the bathroom.

Sometimes it was almost as if she had a split personality, it felt like. It felt draining at times, but she assumed that was what most people did. They changed their personalities and moods to cater to their surroundings and to their environment.

Harleen often wondered if it was normal or whether it was a sign of something more sinister. But then, what was normal? What was wrong with consciously shaping yourself to your surroundings?

"Pity they can't just slip him the old injection and euthanize him," Harleen heard one of the men say as finally, she mustered the energy to push her way into the room. "It's what a psycho clown like him deserves. Screw trying to treat him."

"Geeze, did you see how nuts he went on him? Poor guy. That was uncalled for. Definitely."

She dropped her handbag at her desk, peering over at the group of men through the lenses of her glasses curiously.

A group of men- some of them security, some orderlies- were standing over a desk, watching something on the ratty old television set. Harleen almost got blown away by all the testosterone; She was the only female in the building, aside from another woman who worked in reception every now and then.

"Morning, boys," she forced herself to say, announcing herself. The men barely gave her a nod of acknowledgement, turning their heads back to the small screen. "What's got your attention?" she asked, bending down to nudge her bag under her chair. "You watching a recap of Saturday's ballgame or something?"

"No, no ballgame," one of the orderlies said grimly. "We're just watching recorded footage. You hear what happened?"

Harleen frowned, placing a hand on her hip. "Hear what?" She hadn't heard anything, not that she knew of.

"Shit got real brutal," another guard muttered shakily. "He's got real bad brain damage. They reckon he won't be working here anymore. But you know, even if he was able to and he had the choice, would he really want to?"

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Harleen stepped forward, stepping aside one of the men to properly see what all the fuss was about. The blood hit her face, fast, as she put two and two together, the mental cogs in her brain shifting and clicking to make sense of what they were saying. It was footage in the building, dated yesterday. Just after she'd left the patient after their session...

The picture on the screen wasn't all that great, it was in black-and-white, but she could make out who it was clear enough.

The Joker. The guard that she had spoken to that morning; the one who had escorted her to her first session with him.

They were in the hallway, The Joker still strapped up in his straitjacket. She saw the guard push him against the wall, and the way her patient's head lifted, as if he were laughing at it. Along with no color, there was no sound, but Harleen realized she didn't even need sound, not when it came to him. No, she had already memorized his laughter enough; she could hear it in her ears. _Ha. Ha. Ha._

She saw the guard get up close, touching around The Joker's neck. Where his soulmark was. Where her name was.

The danger of it made her heart pound, her throat tightening. If someone found out... that he had her name bared on him... the soulmark... all her hard work would have been for nothing. All her years of studying flat-out to gain her diploma in psychiatry, her career. _Eveything.._.

 _Wasted._

Harleen's soulmark tingled, as if someone were tickling her, running their fingers along her skin. She pressed the heel of her hand against her stomach through her blouse, captivated by the sight.

Then it happened. Harleen felt sweat shimmer around her forehead, beneath her armpits. Her blood ran cold at how quick and easy he seemed to move. No hesitation. No moment of indecision, of compassionate consideration into what he was doing to the guard.

Her patient's head whipped forward, bashing against the guards. Even when the guard fell down on the floor, The Joker didn't stop. He was relentless, an animal. Powerful. Free.

Her first impulse was to laugh; Not because she found the situation at all funny, but because it was too horrible, too unnerving, her patient's behavior.

Harleen was one of those people that laughed at the most inconvenient of times- when someone fell over, when she heard something grotesque on the news, a murder- and it took everything for her not to let one slip out now. She pressed her lips together, the back of her throat vibrating.

She lifted her hand, pressing her fingers to her pulse, willing it to slow as she gradually got over the shock as the image of the screen flickered. He was just standing there afterwards, over the guards crumpled body.

It was terrible, but she found it all so twistedly romantic, his behavior. He was protecting her; that she was certain. He knew how bad it would be for her, if someone connected the dots, if anyone in the Asylum caught on to what the words were on his soulmark, of just what they meant.

He did it to protect her. Her job. Her career.

He did it to protect _them_. From word getting out.

What happened last night in the bathtub came flooding back to her, making her feel queasy.

She had sat there in the tub afterwards, coming down from the orgasm high she'd experienced from touching herself at the mere thought of him, at the thought of the very same man who had done something so viciously to that guard; A man who acted like he was so above the rules, as if headbutting someone in a fatal attack came natural as breathing to him.

She'd sat in the water for God knows how long afterwards, body curled in over itself like she was trying to fit inside a box, her arms draped over her knees; her damp long hair falling around her like ropes while she shivered, the water going colder and colder, her skin covered in goosebumps.

She had felt so nauseous afterwards, so sick with herself. She'd pinched herself on the arm in scolding, then when that hadn't been enough, she'd bunched her hand into a fist, bringing it down on her thigh; the moment her fist connected with her skin echoing along the bathroom walls, the bruising _thwack_ that made her feel so much better.

"Oh my God, what the hell do you think you're doing?" she'd yelled at herself in disgust afterwards, her eyes hot with shame, her Brooklyn accent more pronounced with the heated words. "What the hell is wrong with you, touching yourself over him?"

Absentmindedly, she reached down then, touching where she'd hit herself right through her skirt as the men started talking again around her. She could feel the bruise that had developed, the tender mottled skin, even simply by pressing down on it with her fingers. The sting grounded her, centering her back onto the matter at hand.

"Where's he now?" she asked, moving back to her desk with shaky legs.

"Who?" One of the guards asked.

"The patient, of course. Who else? The Joker."

"In the seclusion room," he informed her. "He was pretty aggressive, as you just saw. He's been in there since last night, only good enough place for him. Think he's been medicated, too. A few sedatives. He'll probably be groggy when you deal with him, but serves him right."

Harleen drew herself down into her chair, glancing at all the files littering her desk, the case notes that she had been looking through the morning before.

The seclusion room was a place she didn't like, and when she'd had her induction at the Asylum, it was the only room in the building that made her feel uneasy, made her feel like invisible spiders were crawling all over her skin. It was just a cold, gloomy low-stimuli room with no windows and white padded walls. It seemed almost... inhumane to put the patients in there, but what could she do about that? And giving The Joker drugs? Sedatives? She wasn't looking forward to seeing how he was when the time came for their second session.

But she was determined to be organized today.

Harleen flipped through the files, going through the patient's information. Her soulmark kept buzzing with each line she read about the patient, as if a live-wire of static electricity was being shot through her tummy. She hoped that once she saw him, once they were together and close again, the feelings would dissipate.

By the time eleven near approached for their session, she was feeling antsy. Her stomach was in a constant state of the jitters, she felt like she was experiencing heart palpitations. It was as if she'd drunk an entire canister of coffee, and now she was feeling the horrible effects of having too much caffeine.

"It's almost eleven," she explained to one of the guards, gathering a pen and her notes. "Can you bring the patient into the room we had yesterday and get him ready for me?" When she saw one of the guards go to do just that, she tucked in sheets of files briskly, carrying them under her arm while she found her lanyard with her details, slipping it over her neck.

She was the first one in the session room that morning.

On her way into the room, Harleen noticed that the light had been replaced. The lighting was too bright, a buzzing noise being her constant companion in the room from a dodgy electrical circuit. She sat in the cold chair, placing her pen and all her notes on the patient in front of her, getting organized as a way to distract herself. She felt as if she had something in her stomach, something alive and moving. Her insides seemed to wriggle around, as if her intestines and entrails were bouncing against each other like sloppy worms, while she waited anxiously. It wasn't a very pleasant feeling.

She went through the case notes again to ease her racing mind.

 _Patient name: The Joker. Other alias/names unknown._

 _Height: 180 cm._

 _Gender: Male._

 _Birthplace: Unknown._

 _DOB: Unknown._

Whoever had been his previous psychiatrist's before at the Asylum hadn't had much luck with getting answers out of him; that became clear.

Harleen's brow creased in frustration. The case notes were muddled, all with conflicting information. _Sexual orientation: Unknown..._ _Unknown... Unknown... Unknown._ Mostly everything. All of the information had been gathered four years ago, when he must have been institutionalized last before breaking out. Harleen noticed that there was no comments made about his tattoos or, more importantly, his soulmark. That eased her mind a little.

The sound of chains chinking against a concrete floor and a slow laugh disturbed Harleen out of her reading. She heard that familiar voice, an antagonizing growl, "Love, love, _love_ how your getting all _frisky_ with me!"

She lifted her gaze, her back straightening in the chair as her heart plummeted in her chest as if she was on a ride at a carnival, just in time to see him. He was being escorted by three guards this morning. Three guards was excessive, but reasonable, she decided, given what had happened with the poor guard last night.

She swallowed when she saw a flash of white, of vivid green hair as those chinking noises came closer and closer. With trembling hands, she pushed her glasses over her nose, her eyes glued to the door.

 _There he was._

Harleen felt her muscles loosen dramatically out of their tense posture the instance he came into the room and she caught a glimpse of his face.

One of the guards shoved him towards the vacant chair waiting for him, and he all but fell into it with a rumbling sigh, his greyish-blue eyes meeting hers; what seemed to be both a combination of mirth and unrestrained excitement twinkling in them.

He looked terrible, despite the giddiness radiating off every inch of him.

A bandage soaked with streaks of light red peeking through- most likely blood- was wrapped around his forehead. Dark circles and makeup were smeared around his eyelids, making him appear deathly tired. His widely parted, red lipstick covered lips were the only thing neatly in place, as well as the sleek, combed back hair.

She couldn't help the pity she felt over how tragic he looked, despite knowing at the back of her mind that he had brought it all onto himself, that it was all his own doing.

If he hadn't brutally assaulted that guard yesterday after their first session, then he wouldn't have had to suffer a painful head and wounded forehead now. It wasn't her place to feel sorry for him, yet she couldn't help herself.

Instinctively, she leaned forward with most of her weight on her elbows, her spine angled towards him off the back of the chair as she bent over the case notes that had now since been long forgotten.

She didn't dare speak until the guards left the room, but one loitered by the corner of the wall. The man sniffed loudly, rubbing at his nose with his fingers as the door closed. She hadn't been informed that there would be changes to their situation.

"I was advised to stay in here, close to him," the guard explained when he must have noticed her eyes sweeping over him questioningly. "New policy, Doctor. One man will be joining in on your sessions from this point onward for... safety reasons."

Her mind flashed to the recording she'd seen. How wild and violent and aggressive he had become. "Oh, of course. Makes a whole lot of sense."

It deflated her; the news that the guard would be present for the session, listening in on their conversations. Harleen felt her heart deflate, as if the overworked organ was a balloon and some big kid had stabbed at it with a pin.

She had been too complacent and wrapped up in the idea of them being soulmates, she realized then. She'd been too cocky, with her belief that it was impossible for him to ever become physically violent towards her, that he could ever hurt her-simply due to their soulmarks.

Realistically, there was nothing stopping him from dashing across the table and beating _her_ head in with his skull. She should be nothing but thankful for the drastic, if yet sensible, precaution being taken.

She cleared her throat gently, swinging her eyes over to the patient in front of her. Her heart stopped dramatically when she became aware of how intensely he was looking at her, how focused.

She had almost been expecting him to be doped out of his eyeballs on medication, only he didn't appear to be today. He seemed completely lucid and coherent; His eyes silently roamed all over her face, as if he was memorizing every part of her yet again, as if Harleen was a foreign, new creature that had come out of extinction; his lips parted, metal winking at her on his teeth. It disarmed her how good it felt, how _so incredibly_ nice it was, to be looked at like that; like somebody of merit, somebody inspirational.

Deliberately, Harleen dropped her gaze, her trembling fingers picking up her pen as she shuffled her notes around in front of her. She could still feel his stare, penetrating her. It was like he was capable of seeing all the way back into her brain, her very soul. A daunting thought.

"Well, as no doubt you are aware, this is our... second session," she forced herself to speak, her eyes still lowered. "Fortunately today, I'm a whole lot more prepared for this than I was yesterday which means that things ought to go a little more smoothly." It was an ice-breaker, something she was hoping would alleviate the weird tension she felt. She hated how her voice sounded; Her throat tight, voice scratchy, dry. The question that erupted from her mouth next, it made her feel idiotic,"That sound good to you, Mr. Joker?"

"Oh, that sounds... _so good to me_." He was making fun of her, and Harleen could tell as much, though to be fair, she couldn't blame him. She had regretted the question the instance it flew out of her mouth senselessly. When she brought her gaze up to the patient, he shook his head around wildly, his lips in a wide, beaming silver grin as he jostled his legs under the table, "So... _so_ good, Doctor." The words were an exaggerated sarcastic growl, like he was playacting for his own amusement. " _Goody_. Lucky... lucky... _lucky_ me."

Harleen tried to not let a flicker of anything show as she peered down at the notes in front of her again. "Yesterday was sort of an introductory session, something... light and easy, but today... _today_ I'm hoping we'll start making some serious groundwork."

Throughout her statement, she heard him yawn in a deliberately loud, pointed way. Great, so now she was boring him.

She let her eyes flicker to the guard again that was standing around. He had a shoulder against the wall as he stared down at his boots, his teeth picking at a hangnail on his thumb. It was irritating her, the man's mere presence in the room.

How on earth was she meant to focus and get seriously through to her patient while he was standing there, loitering around? He was cramping her style. Though they hadn't made much progress yesterday, the patient was somehow more... vocal around her. Now, he was acting up, probably on purpose because he knew the guard was there.

"Excuse me, sir, but would you mind, _you know_ ," she hinted pointedly, and the guard glanced up at her, still gnawing on his fingernail. "It's just that its sort of hard to concentrate with you there. I know its a new policy, but _look_ at him." She waved her fingers at the patient meaningfully. "He's shackled by the ankles, he's restrained with the straitjacket. I'm sure he'll be no problem."

The guard shoved himself off the wall, glancing to the door. "But the big boss-"

"-We'll be fine here, I can assure you."

She must have sounded extra convincing, because with one more look of hesitation The Joker's way, the man left, shutting the door behind him. Just like that, all her nerves, all the anxiety, it seemed to leave her body. She let loose a relieved sigh when she caught him move towards the glass window, peering in.

"Hope you don't mind," she muttered under her breath, focusing on the patient again seated across from her. "He was just starting to bug me with the way he was uselessly standing there. Sometimes its easier without anybody else around."

The way The Joker was looking at her now, it was... somewhat frightening. His eyebrow-less forehead was crumpled, his lips parted, something shining brightly in his eyes as if he was viewing her in an entire new light. It made Harleen's stomach knot.

"So, I...I heard about what happened with the guard yesterday after we concluded our first session," she started, a bit too conversationally given the severity of the situation. "Apparently you've become real popular around these walls? Everybody was talking about it still when I got in this morning, about... what you did?"

It was so much easier to speak to him about these things when staff weren't present, in the room, eavesdropping. It was the main thing she had found herself itching to talk to him about the most the instance they came together again.

She lifted her chin, letting her blue eyes roam over the bandage on his forehead, the spot stained with blood. The concern she felt for him, it made her bones ache, surprisingly. It surprised her how concerned she truly was for him, though whether that was a soulmate thing, or just a natural human thing, she couldn't be sure.

"Did he... provoke you or something?" she asked gently, trying to understand. She needed to understand why. She needed to know her interpretation of his reasons for doing it were correct, that he was protecting her. "I mean, I saw him looking at your...you know." She gestured towards the soulmark, tucked in under the rigid collar of the straitjacket; The first time she had ever dared to mention it out loud. "He... he saw the name, didn't he? That's why you did it? 'Cause he saw the name and..." she threw a glance at the window, making her voice purposefully lower, secretive, "and if people in here found out about this, then we'll never be able to..."

She stopped uncertainly, searching his face hopefully. His bleached face was blank, devoid of any emotion as he blinked slowly back at her. His eyelid gave off the merest twitch, the J tattoo beneath it moving. _Had she been wrong on what she was assuming? Was she being silly- trying to search for romantic reasons behind such violent actions?_

When The Joker gave her nothing to go by, Harleen decided to drop it. Clearly, he didn't want to talk about it.

"Anyway, so where was I before?" She ran her fingers over the skin on her forehead, lost. "So, um, I suppose...I should start by asking you some general questions? Just your usual-"

The words faltered and died on her tongue as she felt it. Something brushed against her stocking-clad shins beneath the table, prodding, poking between them.

She was meant to be asking questions, trying to gather any sort of important information about him. His real birth name, his age.

All those questions got lost on her when she ducked her head, the realization of what was happening beneath the table dawning onto her immediately; her mind drawing blanks as her chest broke out in a shimmy of hot, flustered sweat.

It was his foot. One of his stripey sock-clad feet were playfully nudging her between her ankles, distracting her, throwing her off her game.

The patient was trying to engage in a harmless, clandestine game of footsies beneath the steel table. She must have been obvious, the shock written all over her face, because The Joker laughed; that same old laugh that she had heard in her head last night and often now.

Her pen slipped from her fingers as she interlocked them together quickly, bringing her joined hands out in front of her as she leaned on her elbows, purposefully hiding her face and her mouth from his view. She felt the muscles in her cheeks strain from all the effort it took to keep herself from smiling in response, her insides feeling mushy, sort of coy at his attempts. _Footsies, of all things, with the Clown of Crime. She couldn't believe it!_

"Oh, really? Is this really how we're going to play it, Mr. Joker?" She failed; A small, short laugh pushed its way out between her teeth as Harleen laid a half-stern look on the peculiar patient in front of her. "So that's how it is, hmm? No answering my questions, just... foot games?"

His eyes snapped closed at the sound that left her, an appreciative moan leaving his lips. " _There_ she is." He rolled his head around on his shoulders, as if he was getting lost, immersing himself into what her laughter had sounded like. It was disconcerting. "You know, you _really ought_ to... laugh more, Doctor. Might do ya some good."

Even then, he didn't stop. She felt his toes curl and pick at the side of her right ankle, tapping lightly, then the kicking stopped, until Harleen felt something similar to stroking. He was stroking her now, rubbing his sock-clad toes on her shin and calves through her stockings. Losing herself in a terrible way, Harleen slipped off one of her heels easily, tapping and pushing his foot right back as another unrestrained, girlish giggle left her, getting lost in their discreet little game.

Never in her right mind would she have assumed something like a silly game of footsies could be considered erotic, but Harleen found she was quickly second-guessing herself. The rubbing sensation and how exhilarating it was, being silly for once; the friction, combined with the way he was staring at her now that he'd heard and made her laugh some, his head tilted to the side, his greyish-blue gaze expectant, observant...

It was as though he was testing her, like he was holding his breath to see how far he was capable of pushing her. Either that, or he was flirting. Was this his way of flirting with her, maybe? The thought made her cheeks prickle with a blush. It was both amusing and unnerving, the game between them, Harleen decided.

She pressed the back of her hand into her lips, tight, just in case she laughed again. She wasn't meant to be doing this; In being silly and humoring him. This wasn't supposed to be happening at all.

"Jesus." She shook her head once, a strand of her hair escaping from its place tucked behind her earlobe. She breathed deeply through her nostrils several times, trying to get her head straight while she pushed her foot back into her stiletto, ending their mischievous secret game. When she felt confident that she wouldn't laugh again, she moved her hands away from her mouth, pushing her hair neatly back in place with her fingers. "Footsies with me beneath the table, like we're two little schoolkids in the school yard? Is that really how this is gonna go down? Huh?"

A guttural groan of amusement left his throat as The Joker leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers, eyelids droopy, "Oh, you caught me at the game, Doctor." The padding near his stomach on the straitjacket moved, as if he was gesturing wildly with his hands beneath it. " _Guilty_."

As he moved back in his seat, the humor left him. Any residuals of the silly game he was trying to initiate with her vanished as he eyed her again. Harleen was stunned by how quick his mood could shift.

"You know, I was... _thinking_ about you last night, Doctor... Quinzel." His voice had changed; Lower, deeper. Almost sensually, Harleen couldn't help thinking. As if he was trying to charm her.

 _I was thinking about you last night._ Those seven words seemed to be the only ones she registered in, the only ones she could seem to make any sense of. They repeated, bouncing around in her brain. Funny, she had thought of him last night, too. In the bathtub, though it wasn't something she was proud of.

"You were thinking of me?" Alert and wide-eyed, she swallowed. "What... what for?"

"I was thinking of a name for you, a... nickname... _then_..." He let the then draw out unnecessarily, emphasizing the word, "Bingo! I got one!"

"Yeah? What's my nickname then? What are you going to call me?"

He hesitated deliberately, pressing his lipstick coated lips together. Harleen sensed he was purposefully making a big deal out of it because he wanted her praise, he wanted her to get excited. And, admittedly, it was rather sweet of him, she thought. For him to make up a nickname for her.

"Tell me," she pleaded, the footsie game having loosened her up. "I wanna know!"

Harleen clenched her hands together, shifting against the table again to show her eagerness. A part of her truthfully was more than just a little bit curious to see what he'd come up with.

"Come on," she prompted, knocking her knees together in her skirt. "It's cruel to leave a lady hanging, Mr. Joker. What are you gonna call me?"

As if he had an invisible microphone in front of him, like he was an onstage performer introducing his next act, The Joker leaned forward in the chair while a loud, flamboyant cry of "Harley Quinn!" tore through his metal teeth. He laughed and hung his green, bandaged head, as if he was bowing to an audience in the room with them that only they were privy to see.

Oddly enough, Harleen thought she could hear it too. The invisible crowd. The imaginative cheer and applause, the spotlight swinging back and forth over them. She wasn't sure what that meant for her.

And _Harley Quinn_? No one had ever called her something like that before; no less had they taken the time to actually give her a nickname, something special and only for them to address her as. She liked it. Soon, she'd have to make up a nickname for him. After all, it was only fair it went both ways.

 **Here's another chapter. Sorry I took a while, I've got a lot of assignments to do and probably won't be able to update for a few days which sucks. I'm really getting into this story despite the nerves and how challenging it is to get the characters somewhat right, especially Joker. He wasn't in SS much, which was a pity as Leto's Joker was awesome, so its tricky writing him and knowing how he would react haha. Footsies with Dr Quinzel seemed like something he would do to me though haha.**

 **I hope it was okay and that it wasn't a let-down? Thank you so much for being so kind, and I'm really flattered by how lovely you all are! It means the world! As usual, I am so insecure and anxious about this. I don't think that will ever go away though. Hope they have remained somewhat in character, its my main worry? Thanks for reading and hopefully see you next chapter! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

When Harleen drove home to her apartment that evening after finishing at Arkham for the day, she felt as if she wasn't even truly present in the car, sitting behind the steering wheel. It was as if she was on autopilot, like her body was a functioning robotic while her mind was elsewhere on the drive home. She kept glancing out both of the windows on each side of the car, peering out at people still wandering around at night as she crawled past them.

It felt as if she was searching for someone, though she wasn't even entirely sure who the person was that she was looking for to begin with. As faces and figures blurred, Harleen thought she caught a flash of a person walking with bright green hair out of the corner of her eye.

Her eyes darted back the way she thought she had seen it, her heart hammering with hope. She was quickly disappointed; No one was there, aside from some man walking his dog on the pavement. Her mind was beginning to play unfair tricks on her.

It struck her that she was looking for him. _The Joker_. She was actually searching for him, hoping to see him out on the streets of Gotham among civilians, as if he wasn't locked up in a mental institution. Realistically, he wouldn't be getting out of Arkham for a long time, she knew. Still, she couldn't help searching for him wishfully at every street corner.

It was silly and she wasn't even sure what was making her do it. It was like she was playing a real-life game of 'Where's Wally?' with herself for amusement, but with The Joker, Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime, instead of Wally.

Stuck at a red signal, she slowed the car, looking around again. She caught a glimpse of a couple walking across the road, holding hands, talking animatedly, wrapped up in their own little soulmarked worlds. Harleen's heart twitched.

It must be so nice, being able to go out in public with your soulmate, being intimate with them and sharing stories. Laughing. Going out on dates like the normal, regular couple did. Just the mere act of holding hands with them must have been so heavenly and fulfilling.

She wondered if she would ever have that for herself with her soulmate. Would she be his psychiatrist forever? Would he always be at the Asylum? They couldn't even so much as hold hands for goodness sake- a straitjacket made sure of that. All interactions they had to have were constantly going to be supervised by guards and security.

Despite all that though, Harleen had astonished herself by thoroughly enjoying every minute she'd shared with him in that session room.

They had only met the day before, and had only had two forty-minute sessions together so far. But already, just simply by being seated near him, hearing him talk and laugh... it felt like a dream come true.

She'd been waiting and hoping for her time to come for over three or four years now; in at last meeting her soulmate- though admittedly, her own expectations for the moment and on just who her soulmate had ended up being were a far lot more different than what she had initially had in mind.

Harleen had fantasized throughout the years of her soulmate ending up being some successful type of banker or a lawyer; someone she would quickly get married to, someone who would be the father of her children. Not a highly-ranked criminal figure in Gotham's underworld, a heavily-tattooed, green-haired man that was known to be both intimidating and ruthless when it came to his business dealings.

But all of that didn't matter, all the preconceived expectations she'd had. He'd said those significant six words, the ones bared on her soulmark. He was her soulmate and, oddly enough, it just felt right; The two moments she'd shared being in the same room as him.

The most entertaining and enjoyable moments she'd experienced in months, in years even, were all boiled down to the past eighty minutes of being in that room with him. Harleen hadn't felt this happy or good about herself and just where it was that her life was heading, in years.

 _And Harley Quinn..._

How he'd personally taken the time to think up a special nickname for just only her and her alone; A play-off on her full name. It was the most sweetest thing someone of the opposite sex had ever done for her, Harleen thought.

He had seemed so ecstatic to tell her, like he was on the verge of busting apart if he couldn't get it out soon enough; so jittery and excited to see what her reaction would be to it.

And now it was _her_ turn. It was her turn to think of something to call him; some sweet little pet-name or nickname that only she could call him as.

It wasn't as easy as she thought it would be, trying to find a special nickname for her patient. Just to amuse herself on the drive home, she started mulling it over thoughtfully, working out different names to suit him. Since she didn't know his real name, it made figuring out what to call him all the more difficult. She only had The Joker- his one main alias- to go by.

When it finally came to her, a nervous laugh erupted from her mouth as her cheeks glowed with heat. She tested it out in the car, speaking it out loud alone to herself; her tongue curling around it and caressing the name. All she needed to do now, was to test it out on him at their third and last session for the week tomorrow at eleven in the morning.

Harleen found she could barely stand to wait; Her skin was flaring up, buzzing with excitement. Especially around the cursive, thin green lines on her stomach.

* * *

 _Mr. J._

 _Puddin'._

 _Mr. J. Puddin'._

 _Mr. J._

Harleen massaged the tips of her fingers on her left hand with her other hand absentmindedly as she rushed down along the corridor, her heels echoing and giving off a frantic, clacking beat with how fast she was moving.

She knew the way to the session room by heart now, and it was a place she had mentally been dreaming about walking down the night before to finally meet her patient and put the nickname she had chosen for him to the test.

Last night hadn't been an easy one to get through. Sleep hadn't seemed to want to come to her, until in the late hours of the morning. It had been next to impossible attempting to sleep when her mind kept turning and turning, replaying over and over what had happened in their session; the mischievous little footsies game, the nickname he'd given her.

She felt groggy-eyed from lack of sleep, but it wasn't as bad as it had been when she had first woken up that morning, partly due to the decadent espresso coffee she'd splurged on in one of Gotham City's best cafes before dropping into work. She could already feel herself starting to sweat as she dashed down along the too-bright corridor, her cheeks hot and flushed.

When she rounded the corner, she saw two guards standing outside the session room, dressed in their uniforms. The sound of her shoes must have announced her, because they both turned to look at her at the same time.

"Where's my patient?" she asked immediately, both hands reaching down to adjust her skirt neatly around her knees. "He ready for me yet?" Her voice sounded disgracefully breathless; as if she had been running down the corridor desperately rather than walking briskly. Harleen realized it didn't matter whether she had ran or walked; The reason and meaning for her purposeful strides were still the same.

 _She was just about dying to see him for their forty-minute session._

"He's in there already. He wanted to get in early."

 _Oh, I think I know the feeling,_ she thought to herself, trying not to smile at the guards words as her cheeks went pink with pleasure. Harleen lifted her hand, making sure her hair was still neat and in place as she turned towards the door to enter the session room.

"First time the clown hasn't given us any trouble on the way in. Don't think he laughed even once."

Harleen didn't say anything in response; She stood back as the door buzzed open, then she entered, her eyes immediately flying to the back of her patient's head from where he sat, similar to yesterday, shackled at the ankles in the chair.

She took a quick and swift evaluation of the room, pleased that she wouldn't have to repeat her instructions of yesterday; No guard was waiting in the room with the intentions to eavesdrop. Again, they were alone. Safe.

His bright green head lifted at the sound of her heels scuffling against the concrete floor and Harleen caught a glimpse of the side of his pale face and his cheekbone as he turned it sideways towards where she had entered.

She paused, hesitating to move to the vacant chair that was pulled back for her, the palms of both hands flying over to press into her tingling soulmark protectively as she kept her eyes fixated on his face.

She saw that his eyes were clenched closed; a somewhat peaceful look to his expression. Then he angled his head right to left, slowly rolling it on his shoulders, a low guttural hum reverberating through his throat.

Harleen faintly got the impression that he was like a wild, predatory animal; an animal scenting her out, capable of tracking her very presence in the room, even with his eyes closed. It was a silly thought, she knew. He was just a man, after all; albeit an extremely eccentric, fascinating and unnerving one.

She'd heard some of Arkham's staff refer to him as an animal ever since he'd been caught and admitted into the Asylum. A clown. A freak. And maybe he was all of that and more? But either way, that didn't matter, what anyone else thought.

This clown... this freak... he was the one man Harleen found herself itching to see now, above all else in the world. This animal was the very same man that had made her find it difficult to unwind and fall asleep last night. This man... clown... freak... he was her soulmate.

Gathering her wits, Harleen stepped forward towards her chair, sinking down into it slowly. The instance she leaned back into the chair, The Joker's eyes opened. He greeted her with one of his sphinx-like, silvery-grilled smiles; his red lips parting widely as his eyes took in her face brightly. She acknowledged with some relief that the bloody bandage he had been wearing yesterday, wrapped around his forehead, was gone. In its place, in the center of his forehead, was a sore purple bruise and slightly raised skin along his Damaged tattoo from swelling over the headbutting incident with the guard.

When The Joker finally spoke, his voice was unlike how Harleen had heard it go before during their previous two sessions. It was softer, deeper, heartfelt, "Been hankering for this moment to come with you, Doc."

Harleen rested both elbows on the cool steel table, leaning forward in the chair, trying not to let anything of what she was feeling over his statement show. Outside, she hoped she looked blank and unaffected, but inside... inside, her body was volcanic; an eruption of various strong emotions spilling over.

"You're looking a whole lot... better today, Mr. Joker," she said as she interlaced her fingers, resting the side of her knuckles against one of her too-warm cheeks. "And you got that bandage off your forehead, too? Looks like its getting better and healing up fine?" Her voice sounded wrong; Too flustered over the notion that he had been looking forward to seeing her as well in their sessions, too hoarse. "You never gave yourself a serious concussion so that's always a good sign. You feeling better now that the bandage is off?"

Harleen became self-consciously aware that she was blabbering foolishly. She was jiggling her knees repetitively under the table, bouncing on the tips of her toes in her stilettos. It was either make pleasant conversation or immediately dive into announcing the nickname she had bothered to pick out for him, something she found herself eager to get out just to see his reaction.

She didn't want to let him know the nickname she'd chosen for him, not just yet. Harleen was all for building up the suspense, exactly like he had been yesterday. He'd left her deliberately and unfairly hanging, with making her have to try figure out some nifty and creative ways to coerce him into finally revealing her new nickname from him.

Now Harleen wanted to do the same as payback.

"Oh, I feel... much... _much_ better, Doctor Quinzel." He nodded his head several times, putting on another one of his exuberant performances, Harleen noticed. She found it so compelling. Everything. He had a way of being so theatrical, so dramatic, his pronunciation of certain words done at a throaty loud volume. "So much, _much_ better." His grayish-blue eyes glistened at her mirthfully as he cocked his head to the side, adding, "The... guard on the other hand...well, can't say the same for him now, can we? Hmm?"

His silver teeth flashed at her as he laughed that laugh she had come to be well-familiar with, even after only two sessions with the patient. _Ah-Ha. Ha. Ha_. Just like yesterday's session, Harleen could feel her self-composure slipping, bit by bit with every second she spent with him. She wasn't sure whether it was a soulmate thing or if it meant something else but... his style of humor. It, oddly enough, matched hers.

She pressed her lips together, fighting back the urge to smile. It was horrible; He was laughing and joking about the guard he had assaulted, one of her fellow staff-members. The guard was no longer working at the Asylum and had to resign due to serious head injuries he had sustained over the attack. Harleen had even overheard one of the orderlies mention that the guard would likely have to be supported financially by his wife for the rest of his life. It would be inappropriate for her to laugh on so many separate levels and yet, the temptation rang high for Harleen.

"You know, Mr. Joker," she cleared her throat loudly, trying to steer the conversation onto better ground, grateful when his laughter abruptly stopped, "after that nickname you thought up for me yesterday, I thought it was only fair that I made up one for you, too. Just so we're like... even-Steven, you know?" She lifted her gaze up to him nervously, peering over at him through the discs of her glasses uncertainly. "You want to hear it?"

His red lipstick coated lips pulled back into a wide, infectious grin as he leaned forward, resting the front of his chest in the straitjacket against the side of the table. "Oh, do I," he rumbled out enthusiastically, his eyes focused and alert on her face. He reminded her of an eager, overexcited kid about to receive candy from an adult for being good. It was catching, and Harleen felt as if a live bird had somehow been caught in her chest, making her insides flutter. "What one do you got for me, Doctor?"

Harleen felt an upward surge of joy in her chest, as if she was being pulled high in the air by a string. How positively he was responding to the news of her having picked out a nickname for him in return and how interested he was, how his attention was solely on her, it was... humbling.

A contributing factor to Harleen's insomnia last night, she believed, was partly due to worrying over what he would think if she made up a very own nickname for him herself, returning the favor. Would he find it infantile of her? Would he laugh at her?

"'Cause, you know... I liked the name that you picked out for me so much that I thought it's only fair." She basked in his attention, glowing, feeling as if he were bright rays of the sun hitting her skin, soaking in and warming her bones up. " _Harley Quinn_. I thought all night about what I was going to call you in return."

"Give it to me. Give it to me. Give it to me." The words were a rapid deep flow from his mouth, coming out of one intake of breath. It was as if he was coaxing her, like Harleen was a dog and he was calling out for her to come and play.

She found it more amusing than she probably ought to have, and she bit her lip, playacting hesitance. She could be just as dramatic as he was, Harleen thought to herself mischievously. She could act.

She frowned, waving a hand in front of her face. "Oh, I'm not too sure," she muttered, deliberately floundering. This was probably the biggest fun Harleen had had in years. "You sure you really wanna know?"

A low hiss of frustration left The Joker's parted lips as he jerked his head in an air of impatience. "Come on, give it to me, Doc. Tell me, tell me, tell me."

"I wasn't very imaginative with it so... I'm just forewarning you in advance in case you're a little glum afterwards, but..." She couldn't hold it in anymore. It probably wasn't fair to keep delaying it for so long, either. "I've never done this with anyone before, making up nicknames and stuff, so like I said, it's real unimaginative, but... _Mr. J_."

The blood hit her face as Harleen covered her mouth with her hands, judging The Joker's reaction silently, anxiously. Truthfully, she had been torn between two different nicknames. Mr. J, and Puddin'. Puddin' was a random one she had came up with; one she had found both hilarious and ironic. Hilarious and ironic, because... when you looked at him, covered in tattoos and green-hair and all, Puddin' was the very last thing you'd associate him with. He didn't look sweet or warm or gushy with chocolate.

She also felt Puddin' was perhaps a bit too... personal. Too intimate for right now.

The Joker clenched his eyes shut and fell back into the seat, his red lips hanging open, his teeth flashing at her. How he was feeling over the nickname she'd picked out for him, she wasn't sure. It was a mystery. It made her stomach dance and clench in trepidation as she folded her arms and leaned with them against the table, her heart plummeting to low depths when a deep groan left him.

Was he not too happy about Mr. J? Should she have went for Puddin' after all?

Another noise came from him as he lifted his chin into the air, the pale masculine muscles in his throat and his soulmark bared to her. "Again," he uttered in a low, desperate voice, startling her.

"Huh?" Harleen stared at his neck, confused. "Again?"

"Say it, Harley... Quinn. Say it again."

His reaction was confusing, but Harleen went along.

She licked her dry lips, before whispering out tentatively, "Um... Mr. J?"

"Again." He blurted out a little laugh as his lips stretched wider open, his eyes still closed. "Again, again, again." The words were a soft, tender whisper that made Harleen's skin feel funny. His voice. It made her feel tender in places. Sensitive. Something she hadn't felt before. "Say it, say it, say it."

"Mr. J," she croaked out obediently, her blue eyes glued to his face, the way his teeth gleamed at her. "Mr. J. Mr. J. Mr. J."

"God, sounds... _so good_ coming from your voice, Harley Quinn." He moaned thickly as another short, stunned laugh escaped the back of his throat. It was as if he was floating high, as if Harleen's voice alone had the power to affect him in such a poignant, severe way.

When he finally reopened his eyes and drew his gaze back down to look at her, Harleen felt blown away. Captivated. Enthralled. Never in her life had she had a man look at her the way he was, or no less respond to her the way he had. How he reacted to her, just by her voice alone when she spoke, how he was looking at her now due to the nickname... His face soft, his eyes gentle.

"So... is that your way of saying that you like it then?" she asked doubtfully, arching her eyebrows. "I did well with choosing Mr. J for-?"

"- Question!"

The Joker spoke over Harleen in an unexpected burst of words, making her near flinch when he bent over the table towards her, filled with eagerness. Eyes wide, she swallowed loudly, her heart racing against his sudden lift of intonation. She slid a hand up to her chest, holding her palm over it through the fabric of her blouse. Harleen thought she could almost feel her heart moving beneath her skin, palpating through her breastbone.

"I got a question for you, Doctor."

She could see he was desperate to get the words out, as if he was afraid had he have to wait for too long, then he'd forget it and the question wouldn't ever come out. He seemed so pained, as if holding the question in alone was causing great mental anguish on him. His mouth opened and closed as his eyes stared into Harleen's beseechingly.

"Mr. J, you don't need to get permission off me so that you can ask me a question," she explained to him.

"Well, you got yourself a...boyfriend, Doctor Quinzel? Hmm?" He cocked his head to the side as he moved closer, his foot colliding with Harleen's beneath the table boisterously. "A... handsome hunka-hunk at home who..." He paused thoughtfully, his eyes flashing with an undentifiable emotion Harleen couldn't decipher as he stared deeply at her, his sock-clad toes up to their game of footsies again. "... _Who_...tucks you into beddy-byes and waves as you drift off into la-la-land?"

Harleen felt the blood slowly trickle out of her face, as if someone was brutally leeching all the warmth out of her, once she made coherent sense of The Joker's words. Was he trying to ask her if she was seeing someone? Was he trying to wheedle out information from her on whether or not she was in a committed relationship with another man? Was he- dare she even think it- asking her out?

It was distracting enough- how he was tapping her with his foot under the table, manipulating her into playing the game like they had the previous session before, rubbing his ankle up and down the length of her leg, from her knee, to where her stilettos began and ended _. The audacity he had, it was astonishing!_

"Why you want to know that for?" she asked, her voice a heated taunt.

She couldn't help the flare of heat she felt, of embarrassment, of irritation, of happiness, at his question, his behavior. She drew her legs back from his foot so he couldn't reach her anymore, tucking her feet around the legs of her chair.

"What? Are you interested in me or something, Mr. J?" The question flew out of her mouth senselessly, and she shut her eyes quickly, chiding herself when she heard his laugh.

"Oh, poor choice of words, Doctor Quinzel." He was taunting her, teasing her in a gruff tone. "Careful, careful, careful." He threw a look towards the guard through the window. "They hear you out there, then they're gonna start thinking you've turned all... _soft_ on me. Doctor Quinzel and her... first _crush_."

The session had only been twenty minutes in, but Harleen decided that was more than enough for the day.

He'd pushed her buttons in a way she never thought anyone could before. She felt flustered, annoyed, embarrassed, a little strange feeling of arousal. A heady combination, all at war with one another.

When Harleen stood abruptly from the chair, breathing heavily, she accidentally tripped on it, her ankle catching on the leg as she staggered backwards. The chair broke the silence in the room when it fell on its side to the concrete with a loud clang. She heard the door buzz open, the two guards supervising from outside peeking their heads into the session room.

"We're done for the day," Harleen muttered, managing to keep her voice emotionless. "Please take the patient back to his room. I'm calling the session short." Huffing under her breath and striding furiously towards the door, Harleen stopped still when she heard his voice call her back.

"Wait, wait, wait. I forgot to tell you I got a present for ya." His voice was innocent, devoid of any laughter. She could tell he wasn't making fun of her any longer, and it made her feel better.

Harleen rolled her shoulders back, inhaling in deeply, before she turned to look at the patient. She could see the guards out of the corner of her eye glancing between them uncertainly, unsure what measure to take and how to act.

"Present? You say you got a present for me, Mr. J?" Harleen wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. He was standing from the chair now, unable to move closer due to the chains wrapped around his ankles. It was the first time Harleen had noticed how tall he was, how much taller than her and slender. "Somehow, I find that real hard to believe, considering you're stuck between these walls all day long. How can you possibly get me a present?"

"It's... homemade." He closed his eyes for a moment, tilting his head back as he grunted. When he reopened them again to focus on her, Harleen noticed how desperate he appeared, how serious for once. "From yours truly."

Was he being sincere? She wondered, pressing the heel of her hand to her mark as it tingled. Or was this a trick? After all, he had to be known as The Joker for a reason. Was he trying to play with her by pretending he had gotten her a present?

She decided to amuse him, though she kept him at arm's length, running her eyes up and down his body. The guards were in the room, alert and ready to use disciplinary action if he got out of control. He hadn't hurt her or been physically violent towards her at all yet.

His light blue prison pants were baggy, but from what she could tell, there was no present on him or anything weighing down his pockets?

"Where? Where's this present you got for me?"

"You're gonna have to come... closer if you want it, Doctor. As you can see, I'm a little... uh..." He glanced down at the shackles pointedly, making his lips smack and pop, "Stuck here."

"Oh, yeah? If I come closer, then what?" Harleen wasn't going to take her chances. She eyed him again. "You gonna hurt me, Mr. J?"

"Oh, I'm not gonna hurt you, Harley Quinn."

"You swear? If I come over there, then you're not going to hurt me, Mr. J?" Her heart racing, Harleen looked behind her at the guards. She held up a hand, motioning for them to remain where they were. A part of her was desperately curious to see what this present was that The Joker was referring to. Harleen had always loved getting presents. "You're not going to make it worse on yourself by these guards having to come over there and put you to sleep for getting aggressive with me?"

An irritated noise left his throat as he rolled his head around on his shoulder impatiently. The Joker started kicking a foot around, the annoyance evident in his body language. "I just want to give you your... present that I made for you, all... all... _all_ by myself. I can't... give it to ya if you're standing so far away."

Glancing behind her to make sure the guards had an eye on the both of them, Harleen braced herself to approach him, her hand still cradling her mark protectively as it tingled.

"Fine. Go ahead and give me your present, Mr. J."

It was her first mistake.

With a snarling victorious laugh tearing through his silver teeth, Harleen made a noise of shock when, without warning, The Joker moved.

Harleen found herself cornered between a rock and a hard place when he strode forward as far as the chains would allow, causing her to have back up against the steel table. The table gave a terrible screech as she collided into it, her backside ramming up against it in a bruising way as he stood over her, blocking her on both sides with his legs. He was barely a few inches taller than her, slender like a cat yet athletic with muscle, from what she could feel. Harleen moved her hands behind her back, bracing herself instinctively by holding them against the table, supporting her own weight so she wouldn't lose her balance.

He was in a straitjacket, for goodness sake. He couldn't even use his hands to grab at her. Yet, pathetically, she felt as though she was paralyzed, from the head, to her toes. It was as if her legs refused to kick him out of the way. Or maybe her body was more attuned to the truth than her brain was? She loved the excitement, the potential danger of the unknown with him, his unpredictability and the way she could tell he was going to keep her on her toes. She didn't want him to get away from her. Not even a little bit.

"Your... present... Doctor." The words were a slow, provocative purr coming real close to her face as he stood over her, against her.

Harleen kept moving her head away, trying to avoid his eyes when he pressed his warm forehead into hers for some reason. She was readying herself for the pain to come, for him to headbutt her and knock her lights out like he had that guard. Soulmark or not, she was just another victim to him and he wanted to demonstrate as much under the gist of it being a present.

How wrong she was.

Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she felt the tip of his nose brush against hers. He was picking a spot, somewhere to headbutt her at. Something warm and soft then pressed to her mouth, startling her. Teeth caught at her bottom lip, pulling and tugging gently before her lip was released and left alone again. _Did he just...? Did The Joker just kiss her? No, that couldn't be it._

"That's enough, freak," she heard a guard shout in warning, the shuffling of their footsteps against the concrete floor as they came to alleviate the situation.

Eyes shut and wrapped in pitch-black darkness as she waited for the guards to pull him off finally now that they could see she wasn't at all happy, Harleen heard his familiar laugh as it floated around her. She opened her eyes just in time to see the guards closing in on him, wrapping their arms around his waist and shoulder.

His lipstick was smeared on the corner of his mouth messily, like he'd just made out with someone. It was only when the guards had successfully pulled him away from the room that Harleen felt her body recover, that she could move. She lifted a hand, pressing her fingertips over her lips curiously.

When she drew her fingers away, blinking down at them, she saw the stained imprint.

He _kissed_ her. He _actually_ kissed her. Her heart soared. It was the most romantic thing someone had ever done to her.

Lifting her gaze and seeing that she was alone, that the guards were gone, escorting her patient back to his room, Harleen popped her stained fingers into her mouth, sucking the lipstick residual off.

 **Another chapter haha. I am majorly anxious about this one (especially Joker giving Harleen his 'present')! Hope, as always, that they were in character somewhat. If not, feel free to let me know. Thank you so much for being so kind and for reading. I am going to go run away and hide now at how bad this probably was *runs***


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

"Bet I can tell what's waiting for you when you get home from work, Doctor..."

The Joker's voice was nasally when she went in for their session that Monday morning, as if he was suffering from a bad cold that had his nose stuffed, as if he had been feeling much like Harleen had during the course of the weekend.

It was their forth session and, like a drug addict suffering withdrawal symptoms, Harleen had been impatient for the weekend to be over so that the time could finally arrive to where they were together again. It had been probably the roughest five days of her life. Where before Harleen thought she could get along fine, carrying on with life with the absence of her soulmate in it, this weekend had been a living hell; one of the toughest things Harleen thought she had ever had to go through.

On the weekend, when she'd put herself to bed at nine o'clock at night, she'd fallen asleep hard and immediately, accidentally waking the next morning on both days to a bright and angry sun bursting through the curtains at after twelve in the afternoon, having overslept.

Motivation had been hard to come by, until that morning, knowing she was a few hours away from seeing her patient again.

She'd had constant muscle aches all weekend, could feel an annoying buzzing sensation around the green calligraphy of her soulmark on her stomach, and her moods had suffered along with it. Agitation had become her one constant feeling, and usually, Harleen wasn't so bad-tempered.

She had wondered if all people with soulmarks went through this. Was it just her? Were absences away with limited contact usually that painful and agonizing? Or had it happened so suddenly and without warning, this dependency she had apparently formed unknowingly onto her patient?

He was like an addictive drug to her now, though she didn't know how she had even gotten to that point. Like an addictive drug changing the way the brain processes emotions and regulates moods... as if interactions with The Joker alone had effected neurotransmitters like dopamine and serotonin in her brain, creating an artificial high, a pleasure that she gained with each and every second of interaction with him in that session room.

Donning on her uniform that morning after having a quick, warming bath, Harleen had let herself acknowledge the awful truth while rubbing scented moisturizing lotion into her skin, letting the slick, gloppy coconut oil-scented lotion soak into her pores around each defined, curled etch of the mark: It wasn't about her wanting to help people anymore. It wasn't about wanting to be a good psychiatrist and feeling as if she was making a vital difference to someone else's life. That was what she had wanted and strove for... _before_. _Before_ her soulmate revealed himself to be the first ever patient assigned to her at Arkham.

Now, Harleen wasn't even so sure what she was doing or what she wanted anymore.

Her files with all her patients case notes were laid out before her on the steel table; her elbows perched on top of them carelessly- the paper scrunching beneath the sharp, bony points of them every time she turned her body towards him-while she listened to him eagerly. She realized she could get so lost in that voice of his, in that laugh, already in such a short measure of time. Her ballpoint pen, she fiddled with, not even deliberately but on an unconscious level; clicking it with her thumb, retracting the ink spring repetitively.

There were so many blank spaces to the questions in his file; Still so many mysteries uncovered, still so many blank spaces regarding information on his past histories that she had meant to ask him about so that she could fill them in. Already, four sessions had gone and went, raining by in quick succession and... nothing. So far, they hadn't made much progress, on a psychiatrist-patient standpoint. She hadn't been doing her duty, in asking him the gritty details; analyzing his personal mental history, his concerns, his problems.

It was more so footsie games beneath the table and lighthearted comments-maybe some flirting, if Harleen was even reading him right. As if they were in a schoolyard setting, rather than in a professional one; Assessing one another as potential suitors in the future that they were destined to share together, assimilating common ground.

She knew she had already made a major breach in conduct by going along with the footsies game and encouraging him a few sessions before.

Giving him a nickname in return. Allowing him to kiss her under the trick of it being a present- and Harleen had already suspected there was no present involved right at the get-go and, still, she played along, indulging him.

There were so many crosses against her name, so many blips she had made in her behavior from the previous week.

All the things Harleen thought she would never do once she got her dream opportunity of having her very own first patient assigned to her, she had unthinkingly done. She could remember a lecturer at Gotham University stressing both the importance of maintaining a professional relationship with patients and keeping yourself emotionally detached. Already, she had lost in both.

She had always thought she was smarter than that. Why would she throw away all of her hard-earned work? She had studied tirelessly for over six years straight to obtain her diploma so that she could go show everyone who hadn't believed in her wrong, that she did in fact have the smarts within her to do something like this. She had been at last successful in going down this career path, and now what was she doing? She was going to ruin it all now?

Harleen dreaded when the time would come where she would have to sit down and report to her supervisors. When the time came, what would they do, if they went to check up on her progress and see what she had gathered on the patient, only to discover she had nothing on the patient at all? Would they fire her? Would it gravely compromise her career?

Even just thinking about it made her stomach tighten and curl into little stiff knots, but Harleen brushed the thought away determinedly, preferring to focus on the patient in front of her and being present instead right now; as if the worry were simply an irritating fly she could easily swat away.

"What?" she asked curiously, her spine straight in the chair as she arched back on both elbows to peer up at him through her glasses. "What do you mean, what's waiting at home for me?"

"Well..." The Joker began triumphantly as he leaned over the table in the straitjacket, reminding Harleen of a host in a game show, about to announce the winning prizes, "Bet you got a nice decadent bottle of Grey Goose on ice waiting for ya?"

"Grey Goose? As in that... fancy overpriced vodka stuff?"

He nodded enthusiastically, his red lips splitting open into a big, dazzling grin. Harleen could feel the blood gushing to her head in response.

It was so easy. He made it so easy for her to forget about all that other important stuff she ought to be doing, like gathering notes for his files. Somehow, he managed to effortlessly enthrall her every time he led her astray. As if all of her patients eccentricities and mischievousness was rubbing off on her and she was his all-too-willing conspirator. Besides, if Harleen had to be honest, this sort of stuff was far more interesting to talk about than all that other doctor-patient mumbo-jumbo anyhow.

"Wow. Nice to know you think so highly of me, Mr. J, if you think I can afford a bottle of that classy, expensive Grey Goose stuff, particularly on my wage?" She could feel a loose strand of her blonde hair falling free from its place tucked behind her earlobe as she shook her head, suppressing the urge to smile. "That what you think I am? Some fancy, classy girl who comes home to all that luxurious stuff?"

"Bet you are. Bet you live like royalty, don't you, Doc? Hmm?" He cocked his head to the side, tonguing along his front teeth as he gauged her reaction. "Doctor Harleen Quinzel, the..." He paused for a moment dramatically as he somehow managed to hook a sock-clad foot beneath the heel of her left stiletto, the next words sang out in a deep, elongated growl, "...the _Queen_."

He was riling her up, it felt like. Deliberately psyching her up for something she wasn't even sure of.

Harleen had to cast her eyes downward demurely when he started shaking his foot beneath her shoe, which only made hers shake and jerk in return. Her entire leg from the shoe all the way up to her thigh jiggled due to his boisterously playful movements.

She caught him tilt his green head back out of her peripheral, then his laughter followed. It was as though he was enticing her to laugh along and, damn it, was she tempted. Willing herself not to smile was difficult enough as it was, and Harleen could feel all the muscles in her jaw and cheeks strain while she tried to withhold it from him.

 _He was just too good. The way he made her feel every time they came together for their sessions..._

Hastily, Harleen moved a hand to her mouth, pressing the back of her knuckles against her lips, her cheeks blistering from the restrained giggle that was aching to escape over his antics.

"Geeze, Mr. J," she muttered, her voice half a whine muffled through her knuckles. "What're you trying to do?"

Her eyes zooming in onto the papers in front of her again felt like someone had tossed a bucket of ice-cold water onto her. Every time Harleen glanced down at the papers in front of her, at how bare they were, it was like a brutal smack to her face; A little taunting voice inside her head that reminded her that she wasn't doing it right, that she wasn't doing her job properly. She was failing.

A deep rumbling noise escaped his gritted, silvery teeth.

"Where's that... laughter, Harley Quinn? Where's that... smile for me?" Harleen heard the abrupt, hard edge to his voice, as if he was as equally insulted as he was annoyed by her. "Where is it? Where? _Where_?" His voice fell to below a desperate whisper, the words a rapid outburst with each vigorous shake of his foot against her heel, " _Where,_ Doctor? _Where_? Hmm?"

"Why does it bother you so much?" The bitter words escaped her mouth before she could prevent them, her teeth squeezed shut. "Why you want me to laugh and smile so much, Mr. J? You gonna tell me that?"

"God, Doctor Quinzel, you're so... tight. Stiff." Harleen watched as he pushed himself back into the chair, letting his head fall back in resignation. "You're so... clenched. Like a fist."

He was lecturing her, Harleen realized. _He_ was lecturing _her_.

"Sometimes, Doctor, you just gotta let that.. _.birdy_... _go_... _free_." A flamboyant, exaggerated shudder left him as the word _free_ fell from his red lips.

His shoulders shook under the tight fabric of the white straitjacket as he dropped his chin, letting his eyes fall onto her again.

"I see her in you, Doctor. That poor, poor, _poor little_ birdy. Straining to flutter her wings. Clawing to get through ya skin. She just wants to desperately be... free." He leaned forward towards her, his grayish-blue eyes intent on hers, desperation there in his shining eyes for her. It was all so mesmerizing; the way he was speaking to her. In soft, gentle, passionate undertones. Harleen felt herself unconsciously leaning forward towards him in her chair herself, feeling as though they were sharing a meaningful, touching moment strictly between them. "You got to let that... birdy out of her cage, Doctor."

Harleen felt the blood drain from her face once the truth of his words registered in. His words struck a cord more than anyone else's had ever before in her entire life.

Harleen brought up a hand, tucking her blonde hair back behind both ears with a finger. "You... you think so, Mr. J?"

"Oh, I know so."

"Guess its just the way I was raised and how I've learned to deal with things, you know?"

She wasn't meant to be speaking about anything serious with him, like her own childhood, as if the roles were reversed, as if _he_ were the psychiatrist and Harleen his patient in therapy, yet it granted her such clarity. She'd never had someone like him in her life before. She could tell he was truly listening without judgment, truly letting her words permeate in.

"I guess I had your usual tough textbook childhood. Nobody was allowed to laugh in my family and... I guess I just started believing that people take you more seriously that way when you didn't. I used to be... thought of as ditsy when I laughed- or so my mother would tell me. When I turned ten, she wouldn't let me play or have fun anymore. It was always... schoolwork and serious stuff, and no affection." It still stung like an insect bite, the way her mother would chide her harshly. Even as a little girl, when she was supposed to be childish and frivolous. "It's just hard to find that balance."

It was as if he was capable of seeing straight through her, to the real her. To the part of her that had always felt so stiflingly suppressed- even when she were little. It was as if he was reaching out to that part of her no one had ever seen before, the part of her that was truly behind the mask that she put on when it came to her daily day-to-day life.

She'd always craved to find someone who understood her; Someone who understood who she innately was, as well as accepted her, all parts of her.

Now Harleen realized she finally had. And he was right there, in front of her, calling out to her. Beckoning to her; the other one she always felt she had inside of her, scratching and shouting desperately to be free, shed of Harleen's skin.

* * *

Harleen dashed up the flight of stairs to where her apartment floor was; Her hands tucked deeply into her pockets, handbag dangling loosely off her shoulder, her head hung low. She lifted her gaze to where her door was along the faded carpeted hallway, her eyes landing on the small purple carry-bag strategically sat on the bristly doormat outside.

Two fingers flew up to her bottom lip, rubbing along it as she peered back down along the hallway in confusion. Had someone accidentally dumped and forgotten they'd left a bag near her door?

Reaching her door, she only had to kneel down to catch a glimpse of what was inside of that shiny purple bag. A long, thin-necked bottle with blue wrapping around the cork. When Harleen leaned on both knees, reaching inside to grip the neck of the bottle to pull it out and see what it was, she felt her breath catch.

His voice rang in her ears.

 _"Bet you got a nice decadent bottle of Grey Goose on ice waiting for ya?"_

"Aww, Mr. J," she whispered; a short, stunned, emotional giggle leaving her mouth as she read the label on the heavy bottle. It was a gross distortion to Arkham's staff protocol, in accepting a personal gift from a patient. Only she couldn't bring herself to care. "That's so cute!"

She caught a flash of something red and white in the bottom of the purple bag, and when she reached in to pull that out too, the laugh that left her that time was even louder. Nostalgia hit her painfully as she placed the bottle of Grey Goose back into the bag, focusing on the other present in front of her. She laid it in the center of her palm, winding it up as far as it would go on the dial.

Chattering teeth. He had also given her a chattering teeth wind-up toy. Harleen could remember having a toy exactly like it when she was little; a toy that had seemed to amuse her for hours. Like most things, she had been told to get rid of that toy as a child; Toys were for young girls, not older girls. Childish things were to be put away, just like laughter was. Laughing was for children.

Unleashing her inner child, a gush of laughter escaped her when the teeth chomped at air before falling off her palm onto its side. When she winded it up again, placing it on the carpet in the long hallway, she muffled her giggles into her palm, watching its white teeth clatter as it wobbled along the carpet hallway on its feet.

She didn't know how he had done it, but... somehow he had. Somehow, he had gotten someone to leave a bottle of Grey Goose vodka at her apartment door, as well as the chattering teeth toy- a toy she could remember being crazy about as a little girl. Harleen didn't even want to begin wondering how it was that he knew where she lived.

* * *

It was already pelting down heavily with sheets of rain when Harleen pulled up into the parking lot of Arkham the next morning. The numbers on the dashboard told her the time was only nine thirty and she didn't have to meet her patient in the session room until after eleven, but she was hoping things would go differently this morning.

She wanted to see him, especially after the gift he had given her last night. It had been the most thoughtful thing someone had ever done for her in an extremely long time; if disturbing and slightly questionable, just who it was that The Joker was connected with outside of Arkham's walls who knew where she lived in the first place.

Chewing on a piece of her gum, she reached over for her glasses, sliding them on over her nose before grabbing her bag. The instance she opened the door, she felt the frigid wind cutting through her clothes, chilling her to the bone.

Climbing out and hastily slamming the door shut to her car, she spun around, rushing up towards the front building of Arkham. She cut through the maintained stretch of green grass as a way to get there quicker, her heels getting bogged down in sludgy mud.

The wind blew her hair out of its carefully constructed ponytail and bit in her eyes, making her squint and grit her teeth as a shiver coursed through her. By the time Harleen reached the old door to the Asylum, shoving her way inside for shelter, her clothes were sopping wet and drenched.

She rushed straight into the room to where her desk was, her vision obscured and blurred through the discs of her glasses from the rain. Dropping her bag beneath her desk, she removed her glasses, wiping them on the bottom of her blouse frantically. Her teeth were chattering wildly, reminding her of the toy Mr. J had given her last night. The thought amused her and made her almost smile to herself.

She felt eyes on her in the room. Wiping her glasses once more for affect on her skirt this time, she slid them back on, pushing them up so that they rested on her nose with a content sigh.

"That's better," she muttered happily, conscious that she had a witness. "Being able to see clearly is always a good thing." She let her eyes dart over to her silent companion in the room as another shiver shot through her. It was one of the men from security. "Morning," she greeted, forcing a smile while she pushed her piece of gum to one side of her mouth.

"Aren't you early today?" The guard glanced down at his watch. "Thought you didn't start until eleven?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you could show me to where my patient is." _My patient._ It was too quick to fall from her tongue. Possessive. As if the patient was hers and hers alone; Which he was, realistically, as they bore each others marks, but _still_... "I thought it would be nice if I could see how his living arrangements are, just to... see if there's anything that needs dealing with. You mind taking me to him? Or is he still in the padded seclusion room?"

"Nah, he got out of there yesterday. He's back in the max security ward mostly."

"Take me to him then." Harleen stood from her chair, pushing it in with her hip.

She wasn't meant to do it, not really, in seeing him. Their time was supposed to be limited to the session room, but she was curious. She wanted to know how he was being treated and whether there was anything she could help him with, regarding adjustments to his living arrangements. She was trying to cure him, after all. She was trying to build rapport with the patient, that was all. At least he wasn't in the seclusion room again; something that relieved her.

The guard obeyed, and Harleen followed him out of the room. She grabbed the bottom of her wet blouse, shaking it out and peeling it off her damp skin when it seemed to want to stick to her soulmark uncomfortably. With each step she took with the guard, she could feel herself tensing up, her heart increasing in rate. They went down a corridor she hadn't been through before, her heels clicking and echoing along the walls. Glancing down nervously while nibbling at her gum, she spotted a patch of mud and grass sticking to the toes of her usually pristine heels.

"You realize you won't be able to go in there with him, right?" The guard spoke up. "He's in max security for a reason."

"'Course I know that," Harleen retorted quickly, her voice unintentionally snappy. "What? You think I don't know why patients go into maximum security for? I'm updated on his files. I know all about his track record and how he's broken out of the Asylum twice already."

"Well, take it from me. Just don't get too close to the bars. He likes to try pull things in."

They were reaching the end of a corridor. Further ahead, Harleen caught sight of two heavily armed guards standing by the door, keeping watch. She breathed in and out deeply through her nostrils once they reached them, the guard who had walked with her fumbling for his set of keys.

He inserted a key into the heavy steel door and it buzzed open with a loud noise. Harleen felt as if her heart was pounding loudly for all to hear as she tried to remain patient while the guard fussed around, unlocking various locks. Then he grabbed what looked like a long baton with a set of prongs off a shelf, curling his hand around it tightly as he pulled the door open.

"What's that for?" Harleen asked curiously, dipping her chin to the foreign implement. "You think that's necessary?"

"It's a taser. Generates over 1,000 volts," the guard informed her, almost proudly. "He goes near the bars or gets too grabby, we put him down."

"Like an animal in a cage at the zoo," Harleen muttered stiffly. It took her everything not to let her disgust show as he held the door open for her.

"Well, that's what the clown is. An animal. An animal with no compassion for nobody."

"You think so?" she squeezed out curtly.

"You saw what he did to the other guard, Miss Quinzel. Tell me that's a man who has compassion; someone who headbutts somebody else and scrambles their brain into mush for their own sordid enjoyment."

Harleen harrumphed noncommittally in response, inhaling in another shaky breath. Then, interlacing her fingers together out in front of her and shaking out her damp shirt once more self-consciously, she approached slowly into her patient, and soulmates, living quarters, her blue eyes flying around the room anxiously.

First thing that caught her attention, was how big and spacious the room was. And... in the center of it, much smaller, was a rectangular caged box of bars.

Four men in security hung around in one corner, chatting in quiet voices to themselves, heavily uniformed in their protective gear, tasers hanging at the ready on their belts. The room had such a somber, ominous feel to it. It was like her patient was a large lion or something; a fatally dangerous, caged animal that, had he gotten out of captivity for less than even two seconds, the guards would be mentally prepared and ready to act, taking whatever drastic measures possible to sedate him.

It seemed so unnecessary, so... excessive, how these guards were.

Then again, the patient _had_ broken out of the asylum twice before with seeming ease. He was known to be prone to fits of violence and was considered a menace to society. He did ruin a guards life the week before by headbutting him, making him sustain dangerous head injury.

Despite Harleen having romanticized his behavior somewhat with that guard, in letting herself believe he had done it solely to protect her career and her name that was borne on him, it would be foolish of her not to recognize that he had done it also out of his own brutish sense of fun and anarchy. Mr. J clearly had no qualms about intimidating and roughing up the guards. Justifiably, they weren't taking any chances. Her eyes searched the room again as she stepped in closer. She couldn't see her patient anywhere. Was he meant to even be in the room at this time?

Harleen threw a look back behind her shoulder at the guard that had escorted her in.

Then she heard it, coming directly in front of her.

"Oh, lookie what we have here." His voice was loud and booming, echoing along the excessively large room, as if he was a performer on center stage at a live show. "Been dreaming of this moment to come with you, Doctor." His voice was gravelly and uneven, as if he was so excited by her unexpected visit into his cell that he could barely keep it in.

Harleen instinctively followed the sound of his voice, her eyes at last landing on his silhouette. What she saw... was not something she had been expecting.

Harleen didn't think she had ever seen a man so heavily tattooed before. Every inch of him, from what she could see, shirtless, was covered in ink. _Ha Ha Ha_ 's in deep black decorated the right side of his chest, while an intricate skull jester wearing a belled hat covered his left pectoral. The taut, toned muscles of his abdomen had the word 'JOKER' scrawled over it- as if had he ever forgotten who he was, all he would have to do was look there.

Harleen realized her fears about someone ever seeing the soulmark bared on him were unwarranted; The cursive faint blue lines of the first meaningful words she'd said to him and her name got lost in all the other tattoos mapping his skin, her name blurring in and mixing with all the others on the side of his neck.

The light blue baggy prison trousers he was wearing were low, hanging around his pelvis. His skin- whatever was left of it that was unmarked- was porcelain pale, toned. At the sight, she thought she felt the word _Harley_ on her mark beneath the fabric of her blouse blaze and glow. He truly was a magnificent work of art; A discomposing sight nevertheless, but commanding and captivating as well.

Feeling as if she was intruding, as if she'd caught him at a bad, private moment, Harleen lowered her eyes modestly, glancing down at a damp splotch from the rain water on the front of her blouse through the rims of her glasses. It seemed the safest place to look.

"Oh, um, sorry, Mr. J," she mumbled, her face bursting with scorching heat. "Didn't realize this might be a bad moment for you? I know we have a session in a few hours but... I just wanted to see how your mornings going?" She was pleased she had forgotten to throw her bubblegum in the trash when she got into the premises now; It lubricated her mouth, preventing it from going dry at the unforeseen situation she had gotten herself into. "I guess I just... I wanted to make sure you're doing alright? 'Cause... as your psychiatrist, I got a duty of care, you know? I suppose I just wanted to make sure your living arrangements are working out?"

"You want to check out my crib and see what I got? Hmm?"

She cleared her throat loudly, her cheeks still flaming. "Um, maybe not... today, Mr. J. I'll call back another time when you're... decent." She had wanted to thank him for the gift, yet she couldn't. Not with the guards there.

"Hmm? What... _was_ that, Doctor Quinzel?" When Harleen reluctantly let her eyes find him again, she could only just see him through the sturdy iron bars. He had a hand pressed up to his ear, as if he was feigning deafness. "What, Doc? Your gonna have to come a little... _little_ itty, _itty_ bit closer so I can hear ya?"

He could hear her quite well, and Harleen knew that for a fact. She felt her heart lift dizzily in her chest as she struggled to hold back a smile. "Oh, come on, Mr. J. Don't play with me."

"Hmm? What?"

"I _know_ you can hear me all from where I'm standing, Mr. J. That's not gonna work on me."

"I... I can't seem to hear ya. _Sincerely_." Choked laughter left his throat. "You're really gonna have to... come closer, Doc. Come on, come on, come on."

"Fine, then. You want it that way, Mr. J? I'll bite."

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea, Doctor," she heard the guard burst out from behind her. "For your own safety, I seriously advise you to keep away from them bars."

The Joker pushed both arms through the gaps, twiddling his hands at her, enticing her close. It was as if he had both muscular arms outstretched because he wanted to give Harleen a hug, a chant of "Closer, come on... Closer" being frantically muttered under his breath, his teeth flashing at her with every spoken utterance.

Licking her lips, Harleen inched closer, outstretching a hand. What she wanted to do the most, in that moment, was get the chance to touch him for once. To actually feel what his hand felt like, just like she saw other regular normal couples got to do out on the streets. Holding hands, caressing with fingers. Feeling sinewy warm bone and knowing that the other person was real, a real solid body.

He lifted his vibrant green head, his chin tilted towards the flickering light-bulb on the ceiling, crying out with flailing arms, "That's it, baby. Come closer. _Come_ on!"

The hands of time seemed to move slower, the closer she got to the bars. The guards stern reminder came back to her, flowing through her mind. _Just don't get too close to the bars. He likes to try pull things in._ It was probably the one rare time where she wouldn't have minded being pulled in close.

Harleen never even saw it coming next.

"Told you to keep away from the bars, damn it," the guard spat out, and just as her hand was nearing one of The Joker's curiously, everything propelled into action.

Harleen heard the buzzing noise as the taser prongs connected with the side of his ribs and she watched, horrified, when The Joker folded into the floor, the back of his scalp hitting the bars, shocked at the wattage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, hurting him like that?" Anger Harleen hadn't felt before shook her as she stared at the guard with contemptuous, hate-filled eyes. "He's _my_ patient, for god-sake, and now look what you're doing to him! What is wrong with you?"

A wild, sudden impulse made her crave to grab that taser, to hold it gripped tight between her fingers as she lashed out, snarling ferociously while she zapped the guard back. But no, she couldn't. She couldn't let it happen. Instead, she curled her hands into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as they shook uncontrollably.

 _ **Well, here's another chapter haha. Thank you so, so much for being so lovely! Hope this one isn't a major disappointment. It's probably way out of character, so I'm sorry.**_ _ **Thank you so much for being so lovely and for reading! I'm busy with assignments but hope to see you next chapter. Thank you. It means so much!**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9**_

Harleen sat in the session room, fidgeting with the case files in front of her and her ballpoint pen as she waited impatiently for her patient. She'd gotten out of his cell quarters barely fifteen minutes ago and, still, it felt as if her skin was blistering beneath her clothes. Her face felt hot, beneath her armpits damp with sweat. How he was treated in there, how the guard unfairly tasered him... It still had her blood boiling.

In her head, she kept seeing it, over and over. The way he had collapsed to the floor afterwards, so pitifully, going dead silent. Her ears were ringing, still buzzing with the sound the taser prongs had made as they lit up and connected with his flesh. It was vile, wrong, how they treated her patient. How they treated her soulmate. Harleen didn't even want to let herself think about how he would seem as they escorted him into the room for the days forty-minute session. Oddly enough, it hurt too much.

Instead, she kept her head down, reading random words on the case file in front of her. Words like D.O.B, alias. The words barely even crept up to her brain so that she could fully register them in. All she kept seeing and hearing, was what had happened.

Arkham had always had a reputation in being one of the hardest and brutal Asylum's in the world, not only with their practices used to attempt to cure their patients. But also their treatment of them. How the guard had treated him back there, it was so hostile, so... inhumane. Harleen doubted he would have meant her any harm anyway; He was merely reaching out to her through the bars, craving some form of the basic human contact he had no doubt been denied for months and months on end.

And, frankly, Harleen had been all too happy to touch him back. She wasn't sure whether it was a soulmate thing or just a basic human compassion thing, but... she had craved the chance to touch him just as much as The Joker had probably craved it himself.

There was even dull, hollow aches pinging away in her chest; a bitterness at an opportunity to touch him being denied and lost to her. Why couldn't the guard have just let her touch him, even for the shortest second? Why couldn't the guard have been slower to act?

Her eyelids felt hot and they stung angrily as she blinked heavily down at the papers in front of her. She had been that close to lashing out on the guard, giving him a few choice words. If Harleen hadn't been so swept up in doing the right thing by protocol and staff conduct, she wouldn't have hesitated twice. _"Don't you dare do that to my patient ever again,"_ she had longed to say at the time. _"You do that to him one more time and you'll be sorry."_ She tasted the acerbic twang in her mouth of words left unspoken as she swallowed.

If only she didn't care so much about putting her career on the line. If only... The guard wouldn't have known what had hit him then.

She glanced down at the time on her wristwatch, consulting the time while she gripped her fingers around her pen, tapping it against the tabletop. Ten minutes. She had only ten minutes to wait. She would see her patient then, and she could make sure he was doing okay after what had happened. It was the only calming thought she had that prevented her from totally losing it. She felt as though she was only one thin, brittle and delicate, half-shredded thread-line away from losing it.

Her heart started pumping when she saw a flash of him through the other side of the window. Two guards were escorting him at a slow pace. They were holding him up, supporting him, it looked like. Probably due to being tasered. He was probably feeling so weak and fatigued that he could barely stand upright without assistance.

Harleen's eyes darted up to him as they entered the room. Her suspicions had been confirmed; Two guards, two men in about their early thirties, had him by the arm. She felt her heart burst in her chest, as if someone was suddenly stabbing at it with a pin, when her eyes focused on her patient's face.

His pale skin was shiny, his vibrant green hair greasy and slick with what appeared to be sweat. The creases around his eyes seemed more darker and pronounced, though Harleen couldn't be sure whether it was just by makeup or not. When the guards all but dropped him into the chair, he sagged in it like a limp rag; a low, irritated groan escaping his parted, crimson lips.

How long would they have to keep it up for; with him being her patient, her his psychiatrist? Having just seen the way he was treated by Arkham's staff firsthand, it was sheer agony to have to sit through. When would things start getting normal or would they have to keep going this way forever? What about the future they were meant to have together, as destined by the soulmarks they both wore?

Harleen didn't dare begin speaking until she knew for certain that the guards had completely left the room. She didn't want them overhearing her, in case they began questioning where her head was at. Once the door buzzed closed and she caught the two guards standing outside the window, leaning against the wall, she moved her eyes to her patient again.

She leaned forward in the chair, supporting all of her weight onto her elbows. She knew she had to be discreet about this. Quiet.

"You feeling okay after what happened back there, Mr. J?" Harleen's voice was a weak, tremulous croak.

She could still see what had happened, back there, in his cell room, so vividly. The _zzpt_ noise of the taser as the volts on the prongs lit up, connecting with his skin, his ribs. She placed both hands on the steel table, resting her right hand over her left, her fingers shaking as she peered over at him desperately through her glasses.

"I... I couldn't believe it, just how they're treating you." She shook her head once, her throat closing over as he blinked at her slowly, his eyes shining, glazed. "Honestly, I... I felt sick to my stomach." She reached up, pressing her palm flat against the left side of her chest through the fabric of her blouse, feeling where her heart was through her breastbone. "Like I was going to throw up or something. Do they usually make a habit out of treating you that way or is this just the first time in here?"

It seemed to take him a pitifully long moment to regain use of his voice, but Harleen waited desperately, on pins and needles. A low grunting noise escaped him, a noise that sounded almost like a laugh. Was he finding her reactions humorous? Harleen wondered self-consciously. Was he that unused to expressions of sympathy that he found it hilarious?

"What? You... concerned for me, Doctor?" The words came out through his silver teeth deep and slow, as if he were drugged. He sounded slurry, as if he had been hit up with a high dosage of something to keep him mellow. Had the guards given him medication after what they had done to him? "Touching. So... _so touching_ of you, Doctor Quinzel." Another grunt that sounded derisive left the base of his throat.

"Hey, come on, Mr. J." The gentle plead left her before she could stop herself. "That's not fair. Is this how you always are to people when they're... trying to help you? You think its funny, how I'm being? That I'm worried for you and that I don't much like the way these guys are treating you, like your... your some sort of animal and not a human worthy of dignity and respect? Huh?"

Another rumbling noise left him as he dropped his gaze. He pushed out his left cheek with his tongue, reminding her of an insolent child. How he was reacting, how he was being towards her... it was about the most simultaneously heartbreaking and frustrating thing Harleen had ever had to go through before, she felt.

They had seemed to have gotten along so well the past few sessions. They mightn't have had any major breakthroughs and it was mostly lighthearted games, sure, but... Harleen had really began to feel they were beginning to share something special together, that she were beginning to get deep into the heart of him.

Had she misread that, all along? Had she just been silly all those times, in romanticizing what they had and finding meaning in every part of their interactions in the session room simply because of the fact that they were soulmates?

"I'm not happy with the situation, Mr. J," she carried on under her breath, merely venting because he was the only person in the room, her Brooklyn accent more prominent. "I mean, I only get you forty-minutes, three times a week. I swear they did this on purpose, because... how am I supposed to treat you when you're like this, all... doped-up to your eyeballs with drugs? I'm not happy at all with any part of this."

"Oh. You got a... little bit of an accent, Doc?" He lifted his chin, focusing on Harleen across the table again with bleary, dilated eyes. Despite being drugged, she could tell he was truly interested. She felt her cheeks burn with heat. "Where ya from?"

"I'm from here, mostly. But... I was born in Brooklyn, which is... you know, New York City. I moved here to Gotham City when I was... three, I think. When I was just a baby."

"Well, I'm a Gotham boy, Doctor... Quinzel."

Harleen felt her heart surge with hope at his words. Finally. Finally, he was giving her something to work with, something to go by. It felt cruel, because she was sort of taking advantage of his vulnerable, medicated state, but at least he was giving her something. She wasn't being completely hopeless when it came to their sessions. She gripped her pen, sifting through her case files. She scribbled Gotham City down on the previously blank space where the question of where he was born was.

"I'm a... Gotham Boy through and through, straight down to my heart, to my... my bones." _Bones_ was said extravagantly loud, as if he was announcing it to the world.

Harleen felt her soulmark prickle, as if it was responding to his voice, and she reached down beneath the table, laying her hand against it through her shirt.

"What did you think of the gift I got for ya?" One of his sock-clad feet knocked against Harleen's ankle playfully beneath the table, bringing her attention back to him rather than the exciting revelation of where the patient was born. Harleen lifted her gaze, looking at him through the lenses of her glasses, her pen stilling from its frantic writing on the case files. His head was tilted to the side, his grayish-blue eyes slightly less glassy. The effects of the medication were seeming to be wearing off, bit by bit. "Hmm?"

"You mean the surprise that you left for me on my apartment doorstep, Mr. J? The bottle of Grey Goose and the chattering teeth?"

He grunted his assent, his eyes dancing as he leaned forward against the table, his metal teeth bared to her.

"Well, I was definitely in for a shock when I got home," she said softly, a thrill racing through her. It was the same thrill she had felt the night before, when stumbling on the purple gift-bag at her apartment door.

"Good shock? Or... bad shock?" He rolled his head on his shoulders in an air of impatience, as if he could barely stand waiting for Harleen to confess how she felt on the unexpected present he had given her. She felt his feet jiggle and bounce around hers beneath the table. His intense gaze held hers in as he remained leaning towards her across the table, a jitteriness to him. "Good or... bad, Doctor Quinzel?"

Harleen found it sort of... sweet. It was as if he couldn't stand the idea of her not liking the gift, and she couldn't remember a time where a man held her opinion in such high regard before; as if to him, what she thought and how she felt was the important thing in the world. She hadn't had somebody treat her like that before. Especially not her father when she was a little girl.

"Bad? Good? Tell me, tell me." His words had dropped an octave lower. Gravelly, pleading. "Oh, the...the suspense! It's killing me, Harley Quinn!"

Harleen glanced towards the window, suddenly conscious of the presence of the guards outside of the door again. If anyone found out she had accepted a personal gift from a patient, the fallout would be bad. "Actually, I might have liked it so much that I had a glass of Grey Goose the instance I got in through the front door." she confessed breathlessly, turning her eyes to her patient again. She felt naughty and mischievous, confessing it out loud. As if they were trading scandalous secrets together. "I'm not much of a drinker, but... it was probably the nicest thing someone's ever done for me, Mr. J. I... I never seem to get presents much so... thank you."

A pleased, high-pitched noise left The Joker's throat as he closed his eyes shut, leaning his head back. His red lips were pulled back into a gleaming, dazzling grin. It was as if he was savoring her words, as if her confession brought him so much happiness. It was startling, but infectious. Harleen could feel his joy soak into her as if her skin was a sponge that soaked up his emotions.

"Your looking real pleased with yourself, Mr. J," Harleen noted, her voice quiet.

"Oh, I am, Doctor." Finally, he reopened his eyes slowly, lowering his gaze to her again, his smile still there. There was still a sense of jitteriness to him; his eyes shining brightly as they burned into hers. "I am so... so... so pleased, Doctor." He was putting on another one of his performances, as if they were on a stage-show. "You see, I was going... crazy."

Harleen swallowed, concerned. "What do you mean, you were going crazy?"

"Just... out of my mind with worrying, Doctor." He jerked a shoulder in the straitjacket as he traced around his front row of silvery teeth with his tongue. " _All_ these voices. Will she like it? Won't she like it? Will she..." He paused for a moment thoughtfully, pursing his lips. She realized he was doing it on purpose. He wanted her to play along, to egg him on into telling her.

Harleen was captivated, her body resting against the table towards him. She hadn't even realized how close she was, mirroring his own body language as he leaned toward her himself, until she dropped her gaze and licked her lips nervously, noticing such a thing.

She cleared her throat loudly before bringing her gaze back up to him, her voice scratchy, mouth dry, "Will I what, Mr. J?"

He opened his mouth, about to say it when he no doubt saw that she was hanging onto his every word, entranced. Then Harleen saw him hesitate, his eyebrow-less forehead crumbling, a frustrated growl tearing through his teeth.

Such a human thing; the act of hesitating...

She recalled everyone's behavior this morning, the staff especially, with how they treated him. They treated him like a volatile, dangerous animal, a psychopathic clown. It dawned onto Harleen then that she saw him as anything but.

Speaking to him as they had been in their sessions, just witnessing the way he responded, the way he was around her... He was anything but an animal or a psychopathic clown to her. He was probably the most fascinating, charming and normal person Harleen thought she had ever met. If she didn't find him mentally insane like everyone else seemed to, what did that say of her as a person?

She had contemplated on everything last night while sitting on the couch, a tall glass of Grey Goose in her hand.

She felt so drawn to him in a way she hadn't felt towards a member of the opposite sex before. She wasn't sure whether it was a natural soulmate thing, that it was something that always happened, as if as soulmates it was fate to be drawn physically and emotionally to that other person. He certainly wasn't the type Harleen dreamed she would be attracted to- abrasive, as he looked, rough as guts with the tattoos and the green hair- but suddenly, just like that, he was. He was all the things she was looking for, and more, as it turned out.

"God..." One of his all-too-familiar laughs burst out from his mouth, making Harleen feel strangely mushy and warm when it floated around her. "God, this... _thing_ between us, Doctor." His face softened as his eyes peered deeply into hers, and Harleen felt one of his feet at it again, probing her stockings beneath the table. "This thing, it's so... so... _so intense_."

"You find it intense too?" She blubbered it out before she could help herself. She sounded too eager, too hopeful, and Harleen loathed it. She added quickly under her breath, trying to seem indifferent, "I mean, intense is an okay word for it. Sure, whatever you say, Mr. J."

It was the first time he had properly acknowledged what was happening between them, and Harleen felt her heart lift. Did he feel it too then?

The strange compulsion to be near and how... good it felt to be in the session room with him, how... complete and happy he made her feel, even though she couldn't completely understand it and how it all worked? Had he felt what she had that weekend? The muscle aches, the excitement she felt to be near him come that Monday? Had their separation effected him as well, as if a vital piece were missing, and it were only filled once they were together again?

He hadn't answered her initial question and finished what he was going to say. She was itching at the skin with the need to know, as if invisible spiders were fluttering over her.

She prompted eagerly, "So what were you just telling me before? Will I what, Mr. J?"

"Will she..." He was having trouble vocalizing it out into the open, Harleen saw. His indecisiveness, his conflict on whether to tell her or not, it was palpable in the session room. He made another frustrated noise as he rolled his head on his shoulder, "Will she...wanna be my honey bunny?"

Harleen felt her heart stutter at his words. Another furious wave of heat hit her as she glanced down at her case files again, suddenly embarrassed as she digested his words in. _Will she be his honey bunny? Was that his own way of asking her out? His honey bunny?_

"Are you, um, maybe asking me out, Mr. J?" She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile.

A part of her suspected he was playing with her. Another part of her hoped desperately that he wasn't. But it was wrong, all wrong. She felt so gleeful at the possibility, so happy. Realistically, they couldn't be doing this, not there, not with him as her patient.

The words were soft, somewhat vulnerable in a way she hadn't heard from him before, "Oh, you caught me, Doctor."

"That's real sweet, but... we sort of can't in here, Mr. J." She kept her eyes downward while she peered at her fingernails, using her thumb to pluck a cuticle back. It was easier than having to look at him. She felt the lines of her mark sting on her belly, as if her soulmark alone was punishing her for preventing the natural, inevitable course from happening between them. "I mean, I'm your psychiatrist. Your my patient. It would be sort of... unethical, you know? Not to mention unprofessional. It just sorta... goes against the whole principle of the thing."

When Harleen finally mustered up the courage to look at The Joker again, she was surprised to see how unaffected he looked by her rejection. It was as though her words had bounced straight off him, like he was impenetrable, bulletproof glass and her ammunition of rejection ricocheted straight off him. He closed his eyes, stretching the tendons in his neck as much as he could in the confining material of the straitjacket. Harleen heard a bone crack.

"If no to being my... honey bunny, Doctor, how about a, uh... shoulder rub then? Hmm?" A look of intense pain flitted across his pale face as he slowly reopened his eyes to focus on her. "Getting tasered and... falling on the floor of my cell, as you can imagine isn't all that... _pleasant_ , Harley Quinn." He snapped the word 'pleasant' through his teeth. "No, no, it isn't very... _pleasant_ at all."

"Oh," Harleen gasped, brutally remembering the way he had fallen. "Of course. I completely forgot how bad it must of hurt." She closed her eyes for a moment, her face glowing with shame. She felt so stupid. Of course, he would be hurting. Anyone would if they had fallen hard onto concrete flooring. She berated herself for being so inconsiderate; a hand flying up to her forehead as she slapped herself with her palm gently. "Your shoulders hurting you? On a scale of one-to-ten, how badly? 'Cause I can talk somebody into getting you some decent painkillers?"

"No, no." The Joker's words were vehement, insistent. "I don't need any painkillers, Doctor Quinzel. I just... need for ya to rub my shoulders over here. Come on, baby."

 _Baby_. He'd said that to her in the cell that morning while trying to coax her closer. She realized she didn't mind him calling her baby at all. If anything, Harleen liked it, no matter how inappropriate it was, from a patient-Doctor standpoint. She couldn't even find it within herself to bother correcting him.

Instead, Harleen stood, looking out the window at the guards before moving behind his chair. Her back faced the window, where she trusted it would obstruct and block the guards from seeing what she was doing to her patient, not that it was a proper act of misconduct or anything like that, Harleen reasoned. It was a harmless shoulder rub and, in all things considered, he deserved it, didn't he? After what had happened this morning when she visited his cell and he got punished, he deserved at least someone to help ease the ache.

"Which shoulder, Mr. J?" she asked, standing behind him. She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her, as if someone had punched her in the gut as she stood directly over him. There was something so empowering about it. "Your left or your right? Which ones hurting you more?"

"Both, Doctor." His voice was barely above a whisper; a low whine. "Both are hurting me really, _really_ bad."

Exhilaration darted through her as she lifted both hands, bringing them up towards his shoulders. She'd wanted to touch him ever since this morning when he had tried to beckon her closer in his cell. Now she was going to finally get the chance to. No one could stop her now.

Eyes glued to the soulmark on his neck- the calligraphy that spelled her name, intermingling with another tattoo he had of a deck of cards- Harleen placed both hands on his shoulders. Unfortunately, the fabric of the straitjacket was too padded, she found. She couldn't even touch him properly, but that issue was remedied, when she brought up both hands. Her fingers met the warmth of his neck. She could feel his pulse throbbing beneath her fingers, the smoothness of his skin.

"You're feeling real warm, Mr. J," Harleen breathed, sliding her fingers around the nape of his neck. Strands of her blonde hair fell into her face as she brought her hands down, asserting pressure around his shoulder-blades, working and rubbing deftly with her slender fingertips. A few guttural groans left him. "Hope you're not getting a temperature or something? Last thing we need is for you to be getting sick?"

"Oh, I think you'll see that its not a temperature that's got me burning up, Harley Quinn."

"Yeah?" She blew her hair out of her eyes with her mouth as she concentrated. A flash of an image crossed her mind, disturbing and violent.

She pictured those hands of hers fastening around a neck, cutting off a windpipe, the huffing choking sounds a person would make, how thrilling it would be. The brutal picture happened so vividly, so suddenly, that Harleen immediately stopped what she was doing, drawing her hands away.

"Ya know, you never... showed me, Doctor? I've shown you mine, how about you show me yours?"

"Show you what?" Even as she spoke the words, Harleen believed she had a fair idea what he was referring to. Her mark.

She hadn't shown anyone it, in all the years she had worn it. She never even wore short T-shirts anymore for that very reason. Her mark felt sacred, private.

"Nobody sees it. It's for nobody but my eyes."

"And what about me? Hmm?" He could so easily change his voice through intonation, Harleen realized. He changed it often, to suit whatever was needed in the situation. Now, he was being sensual, seductive. "Show me, Harley Quinn. Show me, honey bunny." It was like he was caressing her with his voice alone. It made Harleen's skin prickle.

But he was her soulmate. He was the one she could show the mark to. It didn't matter with him.

"Fine. You want to see it then?"

Pretending to be a lot more braver than she felt, Harleen slipped to the side of him, a hand pulling up the bottom of her blouse. She watched his face as he tilted his head, his eyes squinted. He was trying to read her mark properly, to understand the cursive green lines that matched the color of his hair so precisely. Once he was able to make sense of it, she watched as his face lit up in recognition, his red lips pulling back into a grin as silver flashed at her.

"Do your friends call you Harley?" he muttered, barely in an audible sing-song voice, as if he was speaking the words aloud to himself, testing them out again, making the mental connection of the meaning and remembering what he'd said to her the first time they had met.

He stared at the words on her exposed tummy a moment longer, then he slid his eyes slowly up Harleen's body, making her feel a sliver of goosebumps form along her skin.

"Happy now?" she mumbled, yanking her shirt back down protectively over her mark. "Huh?"

"Oh, _you_ and _me_ , Doctor." His sonorous voice shook, as if he was feeling especially emotional over Harleen bearing her mark to him. His voice, it reeled her in... sucked her up, swallowed her whole. The passion in his eyes, the meaning in his tone. "You and me, Doctor Quinzel... _Harley Quinn_. You and me..." He sucked in heavily through his mouth, shaking his head. "Baby, we're gonna be... _a force_ to be reckoned with."

"A force to be reckoned with?" Swept up by it all, Harleen brought up a hand as she tucked the limp strands of her hair back behind her ears, a smile playing across her lips. "You...you really think so?"

"Oh, I know so. Just you and me, Harley Quinn." His voice was so compelling, so strong and filled with confidence, his body language reeking of self-assurance. Harleen couldn't help but feel herself starting to buy his words. "It'll be just _you_ and me, _us_... against the world."

 **Finally got another chapter out. Hope it was okay. I thank you all so, so much for being so lovely and supportive, I never thought that would happen at all. As always, I'm concerned about their characters being true haha, but I'm trying to just relax and let it go the way it wants to go. An update probably won't be here until a couple of days, school assignments suck. Thank you so much! As always, would love to know your thoughts. Any suggestions are always welcome too on what you would like to happen! Do you prefer more interaction between them before J asks for a gun? Or should we forward it along? X**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10**_

"What's your biggest... _fear,_ Doctor Quinzel?"

It was their eighth session now and Harleen didn't even know how they had gotten there. To this point. To the deep and meaningful.

So far, in all their eight forty-minute sessions together, Harleen still hadn't gotten a proper word out of him, about his past history, about why he was the way he was, why the tattoos and the teeth and the hair and the vendetta against Gotham's vigilante, The Batman. She'd read in his file that Batsy was the sole reason he had been institutionalized in the Asylum for the third time now; There was a scuffle, and he was delivered to the asylum, but her patient wouldn't elaborate. He mainly directed personal questions to her, ones that really made her have to stop and think. Her patient had a way of making her feel special, she realized, particularly with the way he was staring at her now, so focused, so intensely, with bated breath as he waited for her reply. When they were in their sessions like this, Harleen felt as though she were the center of his attention, that she were his entire universe.

That was probably simply because they were the only people in the session room and all of his human social interactions were solely reduced to her, but still. It was... _nice_.

Her stomach twisted in knots at being put on the spot as she leaned back in the chair, her fingers curling around the foam, watered-down cup of espresso coffee in front of her on the steel desk. It was the very last question she had expected him to ask of her this morning.

When she hesitated, fumbling over an answer, a deep gruff sigh left him as he shook his head, as if her hesitation to answer was getting him all agitated and impatient, "You know, what... _scares_ ya more than anything else in the world? Hmm?"

Her eyes darted down to her fingers as they played with the brown coffee cup, noticing they were trembling for some reason. What good reason did she have for her fingers to be trembling? What?

"Water," she admitted in a soft, scratchy voice; the connotations that the single small word alone had invoking an involuntary, tense reaction out of her. Her heart raced, she felt beneath her armpits trickle and dampen with sweat. She brought up a shaky hand, wiping around her forehead. "Probably water, Mr. J. Water scares me more than... anything else in the world."

Most people probably loved playing in water. The feeling of getting their toes wet. How cleansing it felt immersing oneself into water after a hot, dry day. But not Harleen. Water was harmless and fun- to other people. But other people probably hadn't gone through what she had gone through.

"I'm terrified of drowning and I... I can't swim. Not even now, at my age. My mother and my... my father, they never bothered to teach me. I think they just assumed that its like... a natural inbuilt thing that humans can automatically do. Swimming." A wave of bitterness swept over her, startling her. It hadn't occurred to Harleen how much it had still affected her until then, speaking about it. Then again, it was something she had stifled and flattened down inside of herself for years, speaking about anything to do with her childhood. "I had a real bad experience when I was a little girl. And by that, we're talking like... seventeen or eighteen years ago. Something that happened a real, _real long_ time."

Despite how long it had been and all the years that had passed now, Harleen could still feel how it felt, so vividly, as if she were right there, back in that moment as a little girl again. The sheer panic at floating down under the surface of the water, as if she were a sinking ship, as if invisible hands were reaching out towards her, grabbing on tight and wrenching her down to the pit of the pool .

"It was a hot day and one of the neighbors suggested my mother and me come over and play in their pool. These neighbors, they were real rich, real classy compared to us, and they... had all this fancy stuff. They had a daughter, about my age back then- she had everything she ever wanted, this dollhouse and all these cool clothes which made me feel, like, _super_ jealous enough that I remember wanting to hit her- and so my mother thought, 'Yeah, sure, why not? It'll be fun, seeing how these real classy people live, whether they even... live like us at all'."

She shouldn't have even been doing this; speaking about something so private with him, yet there was something about being around him that made her want to spill her guts; Revealing every dark, little niggling secret she'd locked away and kept all to herself. She hadn't even spoken about it out loud to anyone before, but when Harleen glanced up at him through her glasses self-consciously, wondering if she was both boring and irritating her patient, she saw The Joker was still and motionless. He seemed enraptured, listening and hanging on to her every word.

"So we went over there to the neighbors house, my mother and me. Everything was cool for a while. The daughter's mother was showing her stuff inside her house while the daughter and me played outside the backyard near their pool. It was this humongous pool, like... the size of a football field almost, with no protective gates for us kids or nothing."

She could see it so clearly; The large pool, the cobblestone edge.

"Anyway, I remember her daughter throwing something into the pool- a ball or something, 'cause we were playing- and it was floating near the edge and I thought I'd try get it, being some silly careless girl who couldn't see the dangers at the time."

She felt as if she was right back there, that she wasn't even present in the session room at Arkham anymore. She heard the constant _whulping_ noises of water as her head kept submerging under, no matter how hard she flailed and tried to kick her way up through the surface in order to breathe. The chlorine in the water stinging her eyes. Her throat and stomach convulsing as she desperately tried to heave in air.

"I must've gotten too close to the edge because, next thing I knew, I was slamming right in there. I knew I was gonna die then, instance I fell in there. I had a creeping feeling that the daughter wasn't gonna alert my mother, that I was just gonna drown and it would all be over." She stared down at the rim of the cup, plucking at it with her thumbnail. "I'm not a heavily religious person or nothing like that, but I... I _could have sworn_ I'd seen a bright white light when I looked up. Like heaven was calling to me or something." She shook the thought away, her throat tightening. "But then something grabbed at me, at my ankle or foot or something, and somebody pulled me out. I think it was the... other girl's mother. Mine just stood there."

She could see the memory so clear; something that had always plagued her.

The neighbor rubbing at her arms as Harleen shook frantically with chattering teeth and sobbed over the experience. A warm white towel being swaddled over her as the woman cooed softly and patted at her dripping, lanky-locks of blonde hair tenderly with the palms on both hands. Fussing, fawning. Treating her like Harleen was an adored, brave princess that had just survived something terrible. The girl's mother had seemed so concerned for her, like a mother hen pecking at her brood, ensuring she was alright and that she wouldn't need to be taken to the hospital for medical care.

 _Her very own mother, however..._

She had kept her distance, watching her young daughter shiver and cry from her traumatic, near-drowning experience, as if Harleen was something unlovable and alien to her. The neighbor had acted more motherly to Harleen in that moment than her own biological mother ever had in her entire twenty-six years of life. But that had always been the way the Quinzel family was and how her childhood had played out growing up.

Cold. Aloof. Distant. No laughing, no emotion, and most definitely, no affection whatsoever. Not even for a child when she begged and longed for it the most.

Harleen dug her fingertips into the Styrofoam cup angrily at the memory, imagining herself slicing it open with them viciously, watery coffee cascading out everywhere onto the table like hot, fresh blood. She knew her nails were not even near sharp enough, but at the moment, she wished they were.

"Anyway, it was like... _the most terrifying_ thing I'd ever have to go through as a kid, no exaggerating. What made it worse, I think, was... afterwards. Just... seeing how my mother was to me. She never cared, I don't think. It used to cut me up inside, seeing how much she never cared. She wasn't like the other mother. She wasn't fussing over me or making sure I was okay, she just... stood back, cold and emotionless as she always was. Never even said a reassuring thing to me once, just let the other mother take charge."

It was at that defining moment in her childhood, at around seven or eight years old, that Harleen had realized her mother never loved her. She couldn't even bring herself to love her very own daughter.

"I was never good enough for her," she muttered confidently; the words she had never dared to so much as speak out loud into the open before. She felt such hot, intense stirrings of anger, of pain."No matter what I did, I was never... enough. It never mattered that I threw myself into my school work, trying to get good grades for her so that she'd be impressed with me. I thought maybe she'd.. start to love me, be a little more affectionate. It never even mattered to her, now, when I told her I was interested in going to University, that I wanted to become a psychiatrist. And you know what she said to me, Mr. J? When I told her that I got accepted into here, and that I'd passed and gotten my diploma?"

She shouldn't have been doing it, and red flashing alarms were ringing off inside her head, yet she couldn't stop. His question, it had opened an entire floodgate of emotions. It all just wanted to gush out, like water bursting out of a cracked pipe.

"When I called her and announced the news, she told me that 'Oh, you'll never last long there, Harleen. They'll see you for what you really are'. And it was the same thing when I got accepted into University. 'Oh, you won't make it past the first year, Harleen. Six years is a long time and it won't amount to anything. Your worthless and your not smart enough. Time to wake up and smell the roses.'" Her Brooklyn accent was out, snapping like a whip with the hurtful words. "Always, _every time_ I try to do something, she's there putting bad doubts inside my head." It was like she couldn't stop, as if her mouth wasn't cooperating. When it flew out next, she knew she had stepped over a major fatal line then, "Sometimes I just want to _kill_ her, you know? I know that's awful to say about your mother, but sometimes its _true_. What's the saying? Good riddance to bad rubbish."

Brutally coming to her senses, as if someone had whacked her across the skull, Harleen pressed her lips together, falling silent. It was a complete breach in protocol, what she was doing. Especially the last comment, lighthearted as it may be meant, of wanting to murder her mother. While she trusted he wouldn't repeat what she said outside of the session room to any of her colleagues and security, it was wrong of her. What was she doing?

Her skin was blistering hot after her tirade, as if she were standing close to a naked flame.

"Jesus, I'm sorry, Mr. J," she whispered guiltily. "I'm acting like we're gal-pals in a schoolyard or something. Or like your my... my therapist." Morphing back into her role after her transgression, she moved her cup aside, shuffling through her case notes. She had to get herself under control. "Talking about that sorta stuff just brings back a few issues," she explained, trying to regulate her voice back to the tone she often put on for work. "But that's why I just... I don't like water. That's why its mainly the one thing in the world I fear most, drowning in water. That one bad experience."

The Joker's slow, infectious laughter broke her out of her embarrassed trance, Harleen's gaze landing on him as she corrected her glasses. She felt her soulmark tingle at the way he was, leaning against the table, his grayish-blue eyes twinkling at her speculatively.

He tilted his head to the side, his crimson painted lips opening and closing, before he seemed to get over the hesitation to speak, "You ever... ever... _ever_ end up killing her, Doctor?" His question was an enticing deep and low rumble, as if he was urging her to spill another secret to him.

"What do you think, Mr. J?" She combed a stray strand of hair back behind her earlobe as she tilted her head, mirroring him. "'Course not. I... I've thought of doing it a few times, but... its just harmless thinking. Never doing."

There was no sting at the thought of murdering her mother, no ache or painful feeling felt at the idea. She wasn't sure if that made her innately a terrible person, but the thought of her mother dying in an excruciating way, it made her feel... empty. Apathetic.

"And besides, you really think I'd still be legally allowed to work here now as your psychiatrist if I had something as serious as murdering my mother on my criminal record?"

"Bet you _could_ get away with murder, Harley Quinn." His voice went low, husky again. Seductive. "Bet you could get away with anything with them beautiful... cheekbones of yours. Bet you could even cut a few throats with them cheekbones like a knife."

 _Beautiful._ It was all she seemed able to process of what he was saying, and Harleen felt her face flush. _Beautiful cheekbones. Beautiful._ It wasn't very often of late that someone had called her that. _Beautiful._

Harleen couldn't even begin to feel bad at how calmly they were speaking of her murdering her mother, as if the entire conversation was an amusing private joke shared between them. She let her eyes flit to the window, spotting the guards outside, their uniform bright. They couldn't hear them and no one was monitoring their sessions. She was especially grateful for that now. Talking about this, the subject of murder, of killing, it was dangerous. Dangerously exciting; Something she hadn't spoken about to anybody before, the things she'd fantasize about when she was lost and lonely when she was younger, apparently unlovable to her parents.

"No, I've never followed through with, you know. I've mostly just fantasized about it, about... what it would be like, killing somebody. I know when I was younger, when I got real fed up with my mother, I'd wonder about it, sure." She moved her gaze back to The Joker, a strange thrill passing through her. It seemed so decadent, so naughty, what they were speaking about. "I would wonder how it would feel, whether it would feel... sorta good or mostly bad."

"Oh, careful." His lips pulled back into a glistening silver grin as he chided her in what, Harleen assumed, was a playfully stern way, a foot going between her ankles beneath the table. "Careful, _careful_. They hear us from out there, they're going to start think-"

"-Think what, Mr. J? Think that I'm crazy, that I'm... abnormal 'cause I let myself wonder about these sorts of things?""

She arched her eyebrows at him while interlacing her fingers together. She rested both elbows on the cold table, leaning on them while holding her folded hands up against her chin.

"You know what I think? I think its bullshit if somebody thinks someone's crazy because they let themselves think about how it would be to kill somebody else." She paused, glancing towards the window reluctantly while licking her lips. It was something she had thought about for a while now, the conviction in her voice sending it quivering. "Because that's life and nature, isn't it? Don't we all do that, though we mightn't... admit to it? Don't we all have a... a natural curiosity for dark things?"

Harleen felt a gleeful, spiteful bitterness in her chest.

"They can't hear us out there through the glass, Mr. J. They don't even record the conversations we've had in here," she pointed out assuredly. "They leave it all for me to do. I'm supposed to be... documenting _every single word_ you tell me as my patient." She peered down at all the files in front of her, all the blank spaces where her notes should be. There was a fleeting sense of panic there at how unproductive she had been, but she brushed it off quickly, preferring not to have to dwell on it now. "They can see us out there, sure. They can supervise. But they can't hear us and what we're saying."

"Well, then, in that case if they can't hear us, Doctor..." His voice was loud and purposeful, as if he was about to wheedle her into doing something, "I got a little... suggestion for ya."

"Suggestion?" Harleen felt the blood trickle from her face, like she was hanging upside down, at the unexpectedness. She was clueless on what he was going to do today. Then again, he kept her constantly surprised every session they had. Harleen loved her surprises and the way he kept her on edge. "Okay then, Mr. J. Let's hear it."

"Well, you ever, uh..." A deep moan left the base of his throat as his eyes roamed slowly around her face, her hair that was tied up into a ponytail, the few loose strands tucked behind her earlobes, appraising her. "You ever wear your hair down, Harley Quinn?"

"My hair down?" Harleen's hands automatically flew up to the crown of her forehead, her palms flattening down her ponytail nervously. He hadn't spoken much about her personal appearance before. "What? You think my hair doesn't look nice up, Mr. J?"

It dawned onto her how much it would disappoint her if that were the case. She wasn't sure whether it was a soulmate thing or whether it was just an attraction thing that she felt for him, but... she desired his approval, his acceptance.

"No, no, no," he tore out through gritted teeth, shaking his green head furiously, "I never said that. I just want to..."

"What? What do you want?"

He made another deep grunting noise as he lifted his head high up towards the dank ceiling, showing her the pallid muscles in his throat, his mark. Harleen had learned well enough by now when reading his body language during their sessions that he only did it when he was feeling especially frustrated by something. It was either her that was frustrating him or he was mainly frustrated because he couldn't vocalize what he was trying to say to her properly.

"You going to finish what you're telling me?" She touched her hair again anxiously. "We've been having sessions three times a week- this is our _eighth session_ together- and yet, you wait until now to tell me that something's wrong with my hair? Huh?"

Another exasperated noise escaped through his parted lips, "There ain't nothing wrong with your hair, honey bunny." His forehead creased, his red lips into a scowl. "It's just that you ought to..."

"What?" she asked softly, her heart racing. She needed to hear what he was trying to tell her, so badly. "I ought to what?"

"Maybe, just _maybe_ , you ought to... wear your hair down a little bit? Hmm?"

"Wear it down?" It wasn't the sort of suggestion she had been expecting from him, but it was doable. Usually, she liked wearing her hair up at work. She felt it was more professional that way, as well as easier to keep her hair out of her face and out-of-the-way. "Like this? Is this what you want?"

Without thinking, Harleen lifted up, slipping two fingers underneath the elastic hairband that held up her hair, pulling, twisting, yanking. She shook the strands of her long hair loose, pushing it around with her fingers so it fell around her shoulders and the back of her neck.

The Joker dropped his chin, focusing on her. The way he looked at her then, it took her breath away. His eyes seemed brighter, fervent, as they inspected her face and the way she looked with her hair down; a noise tearing through his teeth that reminded Harleen oddly enough of a parched, dehydrated dying man in a desert.

"That better now?" Her voice sounded unrecognizable to her ears; Low. Breathless. Babyish. "Is this what you want?"

"Well, well, well. _There_ she is." He sounded as if he was choking, as if he had a hand clenched tight around his throat, fingers wrapped around his windpipe. His eyes searched her face again as he leaned his chest against the table, something lascivious there in both his gaze and smile that made her feel like rejoicing. "Where ya been hiding all this time?"

"Hiding?" Harleen felt her face close in on itself in confusion as she blinked at him slowly. "What? I'm right here."

She felt hypnotized, captivated, by the change in him, all simply because she obeyed him and took her hair out of its ponytail. The heat in his stare...

"You ever wear... some lipstick, Doctor?"

"Lipstick?" A short, nervous laugh bubbled in her throat. "I don't like to wear makeup much at work, especially not lipstick. When I'm out for the night maybe, sure, I'll wear some lipstick and some eyeliner and all that stuff." Harleen couldn't help gaining the suspicion that he was trying to change her, mold her into something else. "Why you want to know that for?"

"Oh, I bet some lipstick might do ya some good," his voice dropped so low that Harleen had to lean closer in the chair, his voice a muted caress, "Bring out those pretty, pretty, _pretty_ lips of yours." His eyes fell on her mouth as he breathed heavily with a rattling sound, as if saying it alone wasn't enough for him to make his point.

A flash of an idea came to her. Something mischievous, something way out of patient-staff conduct. Mr. J was always playing with her- the gift that was really an excuse for him to lay his lips on her, the footsie games beneath the table, pretending he had been inflicted with a bout of deafness when she had visited his cell that morning. Why couldn't Harleen play as well?

Resting both elbows on the table, she pushed off the chair until just the very edge of her backside was comfortably perched on it, her eyes flying to the guards outside the window cautiously. From what she could make of them, they appeared to be distracted, engaged in their own conversations. She swallowed against a dry, nervous lump in her throat as she turned her gaze on her patient again.

"Okay, Mr. J. Maybe I _will_ have to try some lipstick after all? Huh?"

Her soulmark on her tummy burned, as if it knew her actions ahead of time. The apples of her cheeks straining to prevent the smile from spreading across her lips, she reached over with her left hand, pressing the pad of her thumb into his cool lower lip, swiping at the red lipstick staining it. She heard him hiss deeply through his gritted, silver-capped teeth, his eyes clenching closed in what appeared to be pure bliss at her touch. Once she felt enough greasy residual on her thumb, she pulled her hand away, waiting until he reopened his eyes slowly again. Harleen felt as if his gaze was devouring her, eating her whole.

"Is this better now, Mr. J?" Another giggle caught in her throat as she slathered her thumb around the lining of her lips, very slowly and deliberately. "Was that sort of what you meant?"

Moving her hand away, she rubbed her lips together, feeling the slick remains of his lipstick coating around them.

"Ooh, after that, you better come here." His feet hooked and pulled at her stilettos beneath the table restlessly with a hoarse grunt. "Come here, come here."

"Why?"

"Because I got something."

"Again?" It was a ploy she had since learned he tended to do during their previous sessions together. Admittedly, it sent a delicious thrill up her spine every time. "What do you have for me this time?"

"Come closer and see." The strength in his lower legs were strong, pulling, straining at her feet. "Come on, Harley Quinn. After that, you got to."

"Fine."

She indulged him, lifting up off the chair, leaning over the table on the balls of her feet, supporting herself on her elbows. The nearer her face got to his, the more she felt it growing. The not-too-pleasant heat around the cursive lines of her mark, the glowing. The atmosphere seemed to change in the session room; the light bulb above them blinking and flickering.

Harleen felt her breathing alter and change the closer their faces became, her eyes on his mouth and the little J on his cheekbone. He was leaning closer, matching her posture, his green hair brushing up against her forehead. The anticipation, the sheer need to kiss her soulmate, to feel his lips on hers at last properly...

The buzzing of the doors opening made Harleen reel back, her backside falling back into her chair. The guards entered the room, and she hadn't even realized that their forty-minutes were up for the morning's session. Heart hammering in her chest, she kept her eyes lowered to her lap while she intertwined her fingers, her patient being directed to stand up so they could escort him back to his cell. That had been close. Too close. What was she doing?

She only found it safe to glance up once she knew for certain her patient was gone. When she finally mustered the courage to, she felt her heart sink dejectedly in her chest, a painful, remorseful ache forming there as her eyes met his now vacant chair.

Breathing deeply through her lips and dropping her eyes to her hands again, she uncurled her hands, then dragged the tips of her sharp fingernails along the inner wrist of her other arm, scratching, stinging, a low hiss escaping her gritted teeth in relief at the punishment it presented her. Then she yanked the long sleeve of her blouse back down over it, covering the red lined mark. Bad, bad, bad. Patient. Soulmate. Patient. Soulmate. Patient.

They were really going to have to do something about their situation.

 ** _I'm really worried about this chapter, I was struggling to do assignments and this at the same time. I'm sorry if its a disappointment or really bad! This was meant to be a bit of a time jump, but I've probably failed and made it too sudden? Sorry! Please go easy on me. Thank you so much for reading, it really does mean the world to me! Hope I'm doing Harleen's character justice. The way I see it is that she always had a natural inclination towards sadomasochism and violence, and a deep yearning for acceptance and love that was absent from her childhood. J was just the one person that acknowledged the "Harley Quinn" within her and tried to bring it out, if that makes any sense? Well, that's how I'm trying to write it anyway. It had to be something more, something biological and already there that caused her to change the way she did, not just J's torture._**


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11**_

Harleen met her gaze's reflection through the mirror as she breathed in heavily, her pupils dilated, eyes wide and stricken. She felt so nervous, as if butterflies were fluttering around in her stomach; as if... any second now, she was on the verge of gagging.

Yet, aside from the nerves, there was an exhilarating thrill there, too. She felt as though she was a child again that had done something naughty- stolen the last cookie in the jar, smeared worm guts and entrails over the newly scrubbed walls- and at any moment, she could get caught and punished.

Steeling herself mentally, she fluffed her hair so it didn't look so flat on her head, then reapplied the red lipstick she had purchased last night, making sure it lined the edges of her lips perfectly. Satisfied, she reached over with a shaky hand, dropping her lipstick into her bag and grabbing it. She sat her leather handbag on her lap near the gap where the steering wheel began, another electric shock thrill darting up and down her spine.

It was in there still, just where she had left it last night. Wrapped in a white, non-see-through bag so that not only no one found out what it was, but so it wouldn't leave her bag a mess by the time it was given to its intended receiver; spilling its contents all over her packet of chewing gum and her newly brought lipstick and her packed salad for lunch for the day.

She'd brought something for him. Something she knew she shouldn't have done. It was not permitted, as part of Arkham's strict guidelines and rules of staff conduct, to purchase and buy an inmate a special gift, but Harleen was hoping she could budge the rules a little. She'd seen it and passed by it last night in the grocery store near her apartment, while still floating dizzily high after their interaction that morning after what she'd confessed to him in secrecy, one of her most inner, private thoughts.

She'd never met somebody like him before. She'd confessed to him the one thing she'd never mentioned to anybody, out of fear of being judged or considered abnormal; One of her constant, violent fantasies of murdering her mother.

It was so humbling, how he had reacted to her confession; As if it was the most normal thing in the world. He hadn't even blinked an eyelid to her confession. No, Mr. J had acted as though it were intriguing, her little secret. It hadn't repelled him at all.

She just couldn't resist buying Mr. J something and she was dying to see his reaction to it. The mere thought alone of how he would react to her gift, of whether he would be surprised or thankful, it made Harleen's heart clench and bounce in her chest, her brain gushing with blissful anticipation.

There was just a matter of getting the contraband in without the guards noticing. But Harleen was confident she could do it. It shouldn't be too hard, if she played it right. She planned to head into Arkham early, to pay an unscheduled visit to his cell as she had the week before. If she kept the gift hidden in her bag, it should be easy enough. She could do it.

Wiping a slight smear of lipstick off the corner of her lip with her thumb and readjusting her glasses, she finally mustered the energy to climb out of the car. She locked up, sliding her bag over her shoulder. It was so much more heavier than it usually was, all due to the gift. Even that small, minor detail in the way the bag's straps strained heavily on her shoulder against the weight of it, it created a new bounce to Harleen's steps.

Crossing through the lawn in her heels, she reached the front steps, sucking in a deep breath again to prepare herself for the day ahead of her. Then she shoved her way inside towards the room where her desk was.

Two men from security were already in there, fussing around in the staff kitchen making themselves coffee when she dashed towards her desk. They looked her way, then seemed to have to do a double-take. Harleen knew it was simply because she was wearing her hair down today, as well as the lipstick. She'd taken Mr. J's advice on board- not that the guards would ever know.

"Where's my patient?" she asked, trying to ignore the gawking looks. "I was sort of hoping to check in on him and visit his cell again this morning." She kept her bag, heavy and sagging, on her shoulder while she stood by her chair. "Is he in there and available for me to drop in for a few minutes?" She knew how ironic it was, asking whether her patient was available. He was literally locked in the mental institution, surrounded by trained guards and kept under strict supervision twenty-four-seven. He was going nowhere.

"No can do," one of the guards replied. "He's out for twenty minutes. You're going to have to wait until your session with him at eleven."

Harleen felt a surge of irritation flow through her like a snowstorm. He's out for twenty minutes? Where? Were they playing with her? "What do you mean, he's out?"

"Like all the others. It's Wednesday. Wednesday is activity day."

Activity day. Activity day was where the inmates were allowed to go outside for some fresh air for a few hours, though they were heavily monitored and locked in by the gates. Some patients liked to exercise, while others just liked to sit still and breathe in the fresh air, letting the sunlight soak into their Vitamin-D neglected skin.

During her induction and staff initiation into Arkham, Harleen had been informed it happened most Wednesday mornings between eight-thirty to eleven and she was early. Still, already her day was not at all going to plan.

Sighing loudly through her nostrils, Harleen picked a few files off her desk, hoping to keep her bag concealed behind them. She would have to decide on another tactic then. Though it was early, she could somehow get into the session room before the guards even had a chance to check her belongings. So that was the plan.

Peering over at the men again to make sure they hadn't seen her, she turned back towards the entryway. Just her luck, the men had returned to doctoring their coffees and stirring in their sugar and milk. She was safe.

Heart accelerating in wicked anticipation, she moved down the corridor, her weighed-down bag swinging beneath the concealment of her files. Then she heard it, the very last thing she needed right now.

"Harleen? Harleen Quinzel? Is that you?"

Harleen faltered in her heels, shutting her eyes briefly in irritation before stumbling back to look at the person that the voice belonged to. She found her boss Mr. Jeremiah walking after her, the bottom of his white coat flapping with his brisk strides. He was a thin, nearly bald man in his late fifties, with hollow cheeks and narrow grey eyes. It was the last thing Harleen felt she was ready to deal with, especially after what had happened yesterday with her patient and their near-kissing incident in the session room, and, not to mention, the forbidden contraband she was hoping to smuggle in.

She felt discombobulated and distracted from what had happened still, the skin on her wrist still stinging dully from her raking her fingernails down it yesterday afterwards. She wasn't even sure if she had done it hard enough yesterday to draw blood.

When she had gotten home later that night the day before, changing out of her clothes, she could only see the faintest imprint. Now, she felt as if the skin had opened up anew, fresh with blood. A part of her was dying to glance down at her sleeve to make sure the blood wasn't seeping through, spotting and marring her freshly-ironed blouse, yet she couldn't; being too preoccupied over the thought of having to deal with her boss to even check.

"Mr. Jeremiah, Sir," she breathed nervously, fixing up her glasses. She sounded guilty, as if she had done something wrong and it was weighing heavily down onto her conscience. Which she really had, in all things considered. And there she was, doing wrong again, in bringing in her patient a present. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to smile, "It's good to see you. I... I was just getting prepared to have my session with-"

"- I wasn't sure if that was even you for a moment there?" He laughed, his eyes darting down to her skirt fleetingly, then to the strands of her blonde hair that were cascading around her shoulders. "You look... different with the hair out?"

"Yeah, I..." She peered down at the numerous case files she had squished under one arm. "I just thought I'd try something different today. Some sort of... change. They always say change is healthy." She would never dare tell anyone that her patient, her soulmate, had influenced her on her latest change of appearance.

"Walk with me. It'll give us a few minutes to have a good catch-up." Doctor Jeremiah held out an arm behind her, beckoning Harleen to follow him down the hallway.

She hesitated, glancing down at her watch, her mouth falling open, jaw muscles slack. "But Sir, I... I really should go prepare-"

"- Nonsense, Doctor Quinzel. You seem prepared enough as it is, with all your notes in front of you, all your files. It'll just take a few moments of your time. And besides, you don't start the session until eleven, do you?"

Doctor Jeremiah was right, of course. The session wasn't due to start until eleven. She had a full hour until she was even due to meet her patient in the session room. Plus, with... what the guard said. Activity day.

"Um, yes, that's right, Sir. I don't start the session until an hour away."

"Then come on."

Crushing the files to her chest, she followed with a few slow, tentative steps, her stilettos clacking as she swallowed dryly. She felt her throat tighten, her heart race. She was addled with dread, and Harleen felt as though her stomach was whirling around like a washing machine on full-speed. She had been dreading this moment to come, having to report to her boss.

"Don't look so worried," he said after throwing a quick glance at her face. "You're not in any sort of trouble. Nothing's wrong. I was just meaning to speak to you two weeks ago about how your progress is going with your patient, but... as you know, I've been incredibly busy. Endless amounts of paperwork and the wife at home, you know how it is."

She saw Doctor Jeremiah scratch and rub at the soulmark on the back of his hand distractedly, as if merely speaking of his wife alone made it tingle.

Harleen had overheard Doctor Jeremiah speaking on the phone in the hallways to his wife once, and what she had heard, it had astounded her. His voice had dropped all levels and pretense of professionalism, to the point where he had sounded so affectionate and loving to her.

"I'm sure that rumors have been floating around from all the staff, but... my wife's expecting any day now, you see." A proud, watery laugh escaped him. "We've had a few false alarms, going back and forth to the hospital. I just want to make sure everything's alright."

"How adorable. What's she having?" Light, easy conversation. She could do this. Anything that distracted him from asking about what she had gathered so far in her case notes. Anything that drew attention away from the fact that she was still carrying her bag with her.

"Well, that's the thing. We don't know as yet. The wife wants to keep it a secret and find out on the day once she's given labor. Can't go against that."

"That's probably for the best." The flighty remark came out before she could prevent it. "Surprises are always great. It's always nice to be surprised."

He laughed shortly in a way that seemed forced, then his face fell, straightening out into seriousness. Harleen could feel perspiration gathering beneath her blouse. "How are things progressing with your first patient? It's been eight sessions, over... five or so hours worth." Eight sessions and over five hours spent with the patient. It daunted Harleen how he had been counting down the exact amount of time she'd spent.

"It... it's going well, Sir," she said, purposefully glancing down along the hallway. Looking away was easier than having to stare right into her bosses eyes and lie to his face. "We're slowly getting there."

"Honestly, I'm surprised you're not telling me you want out."

"Want out? Why would I want that?"

"Because he's certainly not the easiest inmate to deal with. I think that's a given. I felt a little... bad when I assigned you to him, being so... green the way you were. I know its your first time, and he's a hard nut to crack."

 _Hard nut to crack._ His words floated in her brain, taunting, tempering her. "Oh, he's not so bad. The Joker," she muttered dismissively, unable to conceal the slight defensive edge to her voice. The green lines on her belly beneath her blouse tingled and stung at the uttered name of her soulmate, and thoughtlessly, she brought up her hand, pressing her palm flat against it through the fabric of her blouse. "Actually, we seem to be getting along just peachy so far."

She caught Doctor Jeremiah throwing a skeptical look her way, his tufted graying eyebrows raised halfway to his receding hairline.

"It's a challenge, sure, and... each session brings something unexpected and new, but I've never been one to shy away from challenges, Sir. It's just... slow moving at the moment." She jerked her shoulders, as if spiritually tossing his remark off her back. "I was taught by a lecturer at Gotham University that establishing rapport and trust with your patient is one of the most important things you can do, so that's what I'm working towards right now." Even as she said the words, she knew it were a terrible excuse.

She was excusing her inappropriate behavior, rationalizing it. It wasn't about establishing rapport and trust with her patient just so that she could break down his walls, not really. It was flirting and games, and accessing each other, and a whole lot of attraction towards him on her part.

"I saw how you were like, when I first met you, Doctor Quinzel. You had qualities that I appreciated, qualities that I found suitable for working here." They had reached the end of the corridor near a rectangular window that opened up to show the large green, carefully maintained yard of the Asylum, surrounded by heavy gate enclosures. Harleen could see a few of the patients exercising outside, grouped near a hoop while they played basketball. As for her soulmate, she couldn't see him anywhere. "You possess a good heart and are compassionate, with always wanting to see the best in most people. I can see it and, no doubt, everyone else can. But with the likes of him, you just... you don't want to forget what he is. You don't want him to take advantage."

"Oh? And what is he, Doctor Jeremiah?"

"He's a menace. A public nuisance. Even if you could successfully cure him and have him reform, I know they'll never legally declare him mentally competent and allow him to be released."

Doctor Jeremiah's word stung Harleen more than they probably should have. It was like rubbing salt into some invisible wounds. She leaned against the wall, peering out at the large expanse of the yard through the window, the little heads of the inmates that reminded her of ants.

If he was never going to be released, then what would that mean for them? Soulmates were meant to have a future, share a life together. Getting married, having children. Though Harleen never pictured herself as the motherly type, particularly not after how things had been with her own mother as a child, maybe priorities changed when you were with the person you were soulmarked to? Was that something that was going to be denied to her forever?

She shook her head gently, pushing the thoughts away. "Where's my patient now? One of the men from security said he's out there for activity day? So he interacts with all the other patients much?"

Doctor Jeremiah laughed, drawing Harleen's gaze to him again. It was as if he found her question to be ridiculous. "This is your first time here, so you can be forgiven for not knowing his prior history in Arkham, but..." He rubbed his chin with his fingers. "The first time he was in here, we thought we'd give him the benefit of the doubt. We let him interact with the other patients."

"So what?"

"So, we learned never to do that ever again. As it turned out, that had been our... biggest mistake." Doctor Jeremiah rested a shoulder against the wall, peering down at his shoes. "Think of it, if you can, of... fish in a pond. Poor analogy, but just go with it."

"Fish in a pond? How's that relevant to-?"

"- The other patients are small fish in the pond, while... The Joker, think of him as a shark. Little fish surrounded by a shark. I'm sure you can imagine what happens when the shark remains in the water with the little fish for too long."

A laugh tickled the base of Harleen's throat. "The shark devours the little fishies?"

"Exactly." Jeremiah's voice was somber. "The shark, seeing himself as high up on the food chain, a dominant species compared to the little fish... he wrecks havoc, terrorizing the little fish until he eats them all alive, one by one."

"What? So now you're telling me that my patient is a cannibal?" Another laugh threatened to escape Harleen at how severe he seemed with the ridiculous analogy, how stern.

"Of course not. But... The Joker, as no doubt you've read in his files; he's got the reputation for being one of Gotham City's most highly-ranked criminals. Feared. Revered. A real crackpot thug. Drugs. Extortion. Murder. He's used to thinking he's superior to everybody else due to that; He's got a whole team of followers out there, but that's probably only because he'll kill them if they don't follow his lead. He likes to feel he's the... dominant species, high up there on the food chain. When we let him out that day, it was sheer turmoil and... chaos."

Harleen felt her soulmark prickle; A jolting tingle shooting up her chest at what she was hearing. She could see Jeremiah was disturbed. Even as he spoke of it, he seemed far away, distant, as though he was replaying the unfortunate events all over again in his head. "So what did he do while he was... with the others?"

"He thinks a lot of things are funny, even... sick, horrible things. Surely you've noticed that during your sessions?"

"Sure," she shrugged.

"Well, a lot of the patients here, they're already going through a lot of mental trauma. As I explained when you started and we gave you the run down, a lot of patients have... mental difficulties. Depression, schizophrenia. Fragile psyches." Jeremiah scratched around his chin again. "Anyway, The Joker set his sights on one of the inmates. This other guy, he was... heavily depressed. Severely so."

Harleen arched off the wall closer to him, hanging off his every word. "So what did he do?"

Everything he was telling her, she found it so fascinating, that her patient would dare do that, that he were even capable of it.

"I wasn't there to know what fully transpired, but... somehow The Joker convinced the depressed inmate to kill himself. Some of the guards that witnessed it said that he was... taunting and provoking the inmate to do it. Playing on his fears, heightening his mental distress. And when he did... The Joker laughed. Like the whole thing was a good fun joke."

"That's terrible," Harleen muttered as was expected to say, lifting a hand, covering the side of her mouth as she glanced outside the window again.

Truthfully, she didn't feel anything. No stirring of compassion for the inmate, no disgust over her patients behavior. There was just an emptiness there, a hollow feeling in her chest, as if she were made of glass. Nothing.

"So that's why we like to keep The Joker in segregation and forbid him contact with the other inmates. He's volatile. Dangerous to the other patients health's. Solitary confinement seems the best option for someone like him."

"But he's escaped twice before already? I'm sure I read that in his case files?"

"Yes, unfortunately he has managed to escape here twice. But this time, we're taking it more seriously. That means supervision every day in a maximum security unit. He can't do anything as basic as washing his face without anybody seeing him do it." Jeremiah sounded proud, as if he was doing a great deed to the community of Gotham. "I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up spending his last dying days in here. When you're that far gone, when you don't have a full set of cards on deck... its where you belong. Here, forever, locked away from society so you don't get the chance to hurt anyone else."

Harleen felt her stomach twist and contort at the comment. _The thought of him dying in Arkham... To never get to fulfill what they were meant for..._

"How'd he get in here again anyway?" She'd already read the answer to that in his file. But she wanted Jeremiah's clarification.

"Batman apprehended him and delivered him back here. Funny thing is, from what I've heard, The Joker was placid. He came in easily this time around."

Harleen's mind buzzed frantically at Jeremiah's words. While everyone else in Gotham seemed to worship the masked vigilante, as if he was some type of hero, Harleen hadn't. As far as she was concerned, he was irritating. But he surrendered in easily after Batsy apprehended him? Why? Why would he have wanted to be in a place like this, when they treat him so inhumanely?

"I thought maybe he realized that this is where he belongs? He surrendered willingly, because he must know, deep down inside his heart, however... far-gone he is, that he needs us. He needs Arkham. He needs our treatment."

It hit her with such clarity, like a light-bulb clicking on by the flick of a switch.

No, he didn't need Arkham. He didn't need the treatment they offered.

What he needed... was what was inside of Arkham. A member of staff, the name that covered the side of his neck.

 _My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel..._

The one that bore his mark in return.

He must have tracked her down because of the name on his mark. He surrendered willingly and purposefully let Batsy apprehend him because he wanted to find her. He needed _her_.

 _That_ was why he was there. For _her_.

* * *

After her talk with Jeremiah, she was late.

Clutching her files and heaving her bag off her arm, Harleen strode down the hallway towards the session room, her heels announcing her to the guards that were standing by the door.

"Geeze, I'm sorry I'm running late," she panted strenuously, her heart thumping in her ears from the exertion to get to the session on time. She paused by the door, rubbing her lips together, hoping they were still stained red. "I had a talk with Doctor Jeremiah. Is my patient here?" She sounded winded, breathless. She really needed to work on her cardio more.

"He's waiting in there."

The words on her soulmark felt as though they were flaring as she turned to glance through the window while struggling to catch her breath. As the guard said, he _was_ in there. She stared at the outline of his head, at the back of his slick vibrant green hair, until she felt all of her stamina had returned to her. Then, letting her shoulders fall and drop into a relaxed stance, she made her entrance, her eyes glued to his head.

She had barely just reached her side of the table and her chair when he spoke.

" _Finally_. Ya know, I was starting to think you were gonna stand me up, Doctor." It was a gruff whine, as if he was letting her know how disappointed he was in her tardiness.

"I'm real sorry I was running late," she said, echoing the words that she had said to the guards. "I had to talk to my boss. He kept me for a while, but I'm here now."

Keeping her eyes on his, she dropped her handbag to the floor carefully while tossing her notes on the steel table before pulling back her chair. She examined his face while sitting, her heart singing in her chest.

"Oh, and by the way, I would never dream of standing you up, Mr. J," she added before she could stop herself, her voice soft and wavering in all of her conviction. " _Ever_."

His grayish-blue eyes darted across her face eagerly, as if he was considering whether she was being sincere on that or not. Then, his red lips pulled back into one of his dazzling, silver-teeth capped grins in satisfaction, making Harleen's skin feel all itchy.

"Then that's good, Doctor Quinzel. I just wanted to make sure that we're... on the same page here?"

She wasn't sure what it was in particular, but she noticed, during their sessions, every time she saw him and whenever he smiled at her, her heart seemed to soar. Seeing him now, spending time with him, being near, it was the highlight of her days.

"We're definitely on the same page. As I said, I just got held back." Her eyes darted down to her handbag to the side of her chair. Should she do it now? Or later? But when it came to these things, Harleen was never too good with delaying it. She wanted to see what he would think. "I got something for you, Mr. J. I'm not too sure if you'll like it, though."

The Joker's eyes lit up. It was something Harleen had observed happening a few times during their sessions. Whenever she played along with one of his mischievous games, when she had spoken about her fantasy of murdering her mother the day before, and always, always, whenever she mentioned that she had something for him or when he did the same to her, his eyes would ignite and flare up every single time.

"Ooh, I love these moments with ya, Harley Quinn." He moaned in delight through his teeth, leaning forward. The excitement, the anticipation, it radiated off every inch of him. Harleen apparently wasn't the only one who loved her surprises. "What do you got for me today?"

She glanced down at her open bag again, then she reached down, grabbing it by one of the straps, hoisting it up into her lap. She felt oddly coy. "I... I saw something last night and it... it made me think of you." With trembling hands, she opened the plastic bag, reaching in, grabbing the gift and cupping it in her palms carefully. "I'm not too sure what you'll think or if you'll even like it, Mr. J. But it just... it felt like something I had to do, you know?

When she glanced up at The Joker, she felt her heart begin racing to a rapid tempo. He was straining in the chair, desperately straining against the shackles at his ankles so he could catch a glimpse of what was in her handbag. His eyes darted back and forth, back and forth, to the bag, then to Harleen's face with intense scrutiny and curiosity.

"But before I give it to you, you have to promise me that you won't tell anybody where you got it from. Okay, Mr. J? 'Cause its like, against policy for me to give you special gifts from outside and all."

"Oh, I promise." He was panting laboriously, reminding Harleen of a hungry dog pining for water. "Cross my heart, hope to die. _Show_ me."

Bracing herself for his reaction, Harleen brought the gift slowly out of her bag, placing it on the steel table between them. Along with the movement, dirt scattered and dusted onto her case notes, the purple flowers swaying.

"It's a plant that comes in its own little pot," Harleen announced, watching his face carefully so that she could experience all reactions he had over the gift. "I know its probably silly, but... after having seen your living arrangements in here, I thought you might appreciate it? Thought it might... brighten up your cell and make it feel a little more... homely?"

She found it fascinating, watching him. He leaned forward, dropping his head low, his nose inches away from one of the bright purple flowers. Harleen thought she heard him sniff at the flowers a few times discreetly, inhaling in their scent. Beneath his eyelid near the J tattoo gave off a small twitch as a low growly inhalation escaped through his glistening teeth. A crease marred his forehead, making his 'Damaged' tattoo appear as though it was caving in on itself.

"What... what do you think, Mr. J?" she prompted anxiously when he didn't say anything. "It's low maintenance, too, so you don't got to worry about watering it everyday. It doesn't even require sunlight either. I thought maybe you could, um, think of it as your baby." The instance it left her mouth Harleen felt a flush beat across her face furiously. "Like, you know, with babies how you've got to feed them and nurture them? Well, this can be like your baby, too, except you just... water it and... and watch it grow..." She faltered into an awkward silence as another rumbling inhalation left him. What was she even saying?

"Good." He clenched his eyes shut, as if he was savoring the moment. When he slowly opened his eyes and brought them up to Harleen, she saw the glistening warmth in them, the appreciation. "You're so... _so good_ to me, aren't ya?" His voice was warm and tender, causing Harleen's skin to feel as if it was blistering again. "You're so good. So... _sweet_ and... thoughtful."

Harleen interlaced her fingers together, then pressed her knuckles against one side of her too warm cheeks. When the words left her mouth, she sounded hesitant, uncertain, "You think so? I mean, do you... _like_ it, Mr. J?" She blinked at him through the lenses of her glasses, worried. "If not, you can tell me. I won't get offended or nothing like that if you wanna tell me the truth?"

"That what you want, Doctor?"

"Huh?" She shook her head a little, uncomprehending. "Well, _of course_ , I want you to tell me the truth, Mr. J. Despite what some people might think, I'm not some fragile-"

"- No, no, no," he cut through her impatiently, each _no_ a snap of his teeth. Sighing gruffly, he closed his eyes, turning his head side to side, evidently aggravated that she was misunderstanding him. Aggravating him was the last thing Harleen wanted to do. "I mean, do ya... want to have babies, Harley Quinn?" He reopened his eyes to focus on her steadily. "Is that what you want? Kiddies, white picket fences and marriage? The... _whole_ nine yards?"

Harleen's mouth flopped open and closed, as if she were a fish gasping for dissolved oxygen in water. She felt speechless. No one had ever asked her something like that before. How was she even meant to answer that?

"Well, I... I'm not really sure," she admitted slowly once she recovered from the shock. "I haven't really thought about it before, to be completely honest with you, Mr. J. But I suppose, with the way I was brought up, I... I think that some women aren't meant to be mothers and some men aren't meant to be fathers." Her fingers found the crystal earring on her left ear and she played with it anxiously. "What about you? Is that... something _you_ want, Mr. J? Do _you_ want that?"

He grunted noncommittally while tonguing around his teeth.

It sounded so at odds, asking the question to the very same man she had heard her boss speak about so negatively, on what he had done to that other inmate, in manipulating the man into committing suicide.

Harleen tried to imagine it then; Him, coming home after work, briefcase in hand, to a house filled with children. The only image she could conjure up was sort of an old fifties housewife scenario, where she'd slave away making dinner.

The thought almost made her laugh out loud. It seemed so... infantile to wonder on such a thing. She would only be kidding herself.

He was not the type of man to be a father, and she could see that quite clearly. And, unabashed as she was to acknowledge it then, Harleen didn't think she was the mothering type, either. Especially not with how cold and emotionless her mother had been towards her as a child. She feared turning out like her mother and she loathed the thought of treating any children she could potentially have in the same callous, loveless way. She would never be like her mother. _Never._

A question came to her, and Harleen hesitated, twisting her earring back and forth through the hole in her ear distractedly. "What... what about love, Mr. J?" she asked quietly, an ache to know forming in her heart. "You ever been in love before?"

Another grunt was The Joker's reply while he bent low, the tip of his nose near the flowers in the pot-plant that she had brought for him again. This time, Harleen didn't hear him sniff and inhale the scent of the purple flowers in. He didn't lift his gaze to look up at her, either. A gnawing suspicion told her that maybe he wasn't used to speaking about such vulnerable things, like babies and love.

"I don't know if I've ever been in love before," she muttered, answering her own question. "But lately, I... I've been feeling strange. Like every time I'm around you, it... it sorta feels right, you know? Like I'm... home or right where I belong or something. When I'm away for the weekend or when I know we don't have another session for a couple of days, I feel... depressed and like I can hardly stand not seeing you or... or talking to you." She breathed in deeply, lifting her chin. "I've never felt that way about somebody before."

She felt as though her bones had softened into gloppy mush as she peered up at his face quickly through the frames of her glasses. He still wasn't looking her way, seemingly preoccupied on the flowers in front of him, in the fragrance of them, the way they looked.

"And, like with yesterday, when I... I told you about my mother. You never judged me when I told you about how sometimes I want to kill her. You could have said anything; that I'm crazy, that I'm... abnormal, and yet you didn't, Mr. J." She paused, breathing in again to steady her voice. She could feel it tighten, as if her voice-box was a wet rag that was being wrung-dry. "It was like you got me, like you... understand me on an intricate level. It was a really, _really_ big thing for me, talking about it. I don't talk about that just to anybody so it... it means something real, _real_ special to me."

She fell silent, waiting for him to respond, her heart in anxious knots. Was she saying the wrong thing? Was he even feeling it too or... was she just being silly?

When he finally spoke, his voice was only just audible; a raw, rugged passionate whisper directed down at one of the purple flower petals. "Oh, Harley, Harley. Right back at ya, baby."

 _ **Hope this chapter was okay and that you enjoyed it? Sorry if its slow moving, I just want them to establish a bond before what happens next haha. I would love to know your thoughts as usual. Thank you so much for being so lovely and kind, for taking the time to read and review, it means so much to me!**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Harleen pushed her cart towards the children's toy aisle, her jaw working as she chewed on a piece of strawberry gum. She slowed down as she eyed the different toys hanging on the rack, searching for the one that she needed in particular. Spotting it hanging off a hook, she hummed happily, tearing it off, inspecting it closely near her face. This one seemed perfect, though it wasn't precisely what he had requested and no doubt had in mind. But it seemed close enough. She wouldn't be breaking Arkham's strict code of conduct so bluntly this way either.

After having given Mr. J the plant gift, as soon as the guards had directed him to stand to escort him away at the end of their session while Harleen had been about to gather her things and leave, he had called her back; his hands straining against the white fabric of the straitjacket, the desperation from him so palpable that Harleen had begun to feel it herself at the time.

 _"Doctor, much as I love the, uh, plant, there is something else you could get for me. Something else that would make my cell so much... much more homely."_

 _"Of course, anything."_ It still burned Harleen's cheeks, how overeager she was. But it was true; She loved giving him gifts from the outside world and watching his reactions to them. She found such joy out of it, probably even more than Mr. J did himself when he received them.

 _"How about a kitty?"_

An uneasy laugh had tingled the back of Harleen's throat at the request at the time. She had assumed he was being silly. _"A... a kitty? You mean like a... a real live one, Mr. J?"_

 _"Oh, yes, Yes, a... a real kitty cat. Think you can do that for me?"_

She'd so wanted to be able to do that at the time. It would have made her feel so happy to know that she could make him happy in return. To never have to deny him anything, make his living arrangements as blissful as she possibly could, and plus, a fluffy kitty hanging around Arkham would have been adorable. Only she couldn't. When she had began to agree thoughtlessly to his request, she stopped herself just in time, Arkham's code of conduct for staff towards patients filtering through her mind. Strictly no items brought in from outside. All animals prohibited on the premises.

 _"Oh, I'm not so sure I can do that for you, Mr. J, much as I want to. Live animals aren't allowed to be brought in here and I'd get into big trouble, you know? It's just that... a kitty would be hard to hide and... really, would you want something so cute to be stuck living in here at Arkham?"_

She could tell he was severely disappointed over that, and it had haunted her ever since she had left the premises that afternoon. How he had pursed his red lips together, clenched his eyes shut, and had let his head fall back, a loud groaning noise leaving him that sounded filled with despair. It frustrated her that she couldn't do it for him, her soulmate- and a kitten was an innocent, simple request enough- but she had already gone against Arkham's protocol numerous times already, though in more innocuous ways. The gifts, the footsies, the games. Talking about personal things that had happened to her during her childhood, rather than getting him to speak so that she could treat him like Doctor Jeremiah wanted.

All the things that she had done for him so far were only small, harmless favors. Not ones that had the potential to seriously jeopardize her career like giving him a live animal would. Plus, you couldn't keep a kitten hidden for too long. Someone would find out and her boss would start to wonder.

No, this would have to do. She didn't feel as guilty about declining if she could give him a good enough substitute. She squeezed the small beige and white kitten toy directly around its belly, watching its little paws dance as the stuffing was pushed up towards its head with the exerted pressure. While it mightn't have been an animate, real fluffy kitten that purred when petted and meowed when about to be fed, it was still a kitten. It was cute enough and soft enough.

Mr. J would just have to make do with it.

And besides, once he was out of prison, maybe they could have a kitty family of their own together? A small smile quirked up the corners of her lips at the foolish thought as she held the stuffed toy up to her cheek, pressing it into her skin, luxuriating in its velvety softness. Perhaps that would be their thing, if not children? A house filled with adorable little kitties that would crawl up on the walls and hang off the furniture?

* * *

Heels clicking and echoing down along the hallway, Harleen strode towards the session room. One hand was pressed flat against the tingling soulmark on her stomach beneath the fabric of her blouse while her other hand was half-slung into the pocket of her white coat, her slender fingers wrapped around the kitten toy she had carefully concealed in it so it wouldn't somehow fall out and she'd lose it on him.

Stopping by the window that showed into the room, she greeted the guards with a curt nod and pushed up her glasses over her nose, turning to peer in at her patient. As usual, he was already seated in his usual spot and was waiting for her, restrained in his padded straitjacket and chained down at the ankles.

Just like every other time before it, she couldn't wait to see The Joker's reaction to the gift.

She watched through the glass as he twitched his green head to the side, rolling his shoulders as much as he could with whatever little movement the straitjacket allowed him. Then once she moved into the room and the doors buzzed closed, he leaned back in the seat, craning his head sideways to look at her.

"Knew you were seconds away from coming in here, Doctor Quinzel. Want to know how?"

"Yeah?" She sank into her chair and leaned on an elbow, her hand still submerged in her pocket, stroking the toy. "And how'd you know that, Mr. J?"

"Because every time, every time, _every time_... you're about to come in here, Doctor Quinzel..." He paused and shut his eyes, twitching his head to the same side again with a deep grunt. "Every time you're about to come in here, I get the tingles."

"You get that, too? Around your... your mark?" It relieved her that she wasn't the only one that felt a prickling, tingling sensation around her soulmark, particularly when they were about to come together in the same room.

He nodded once, then reopened his eyes to peer at her, his silver teeth winking at her. "Oh, I can feel ya coming from a mile away, Doctor Quinzel." The words were a low, tender whisper coming from his parted red mouth. "Every time it happens, I think to myself, 'Oh, _there... there_ she is. _There's_ my Harley Quinn'."

He said _my_. There's _my_ Harley Quinn. _My._ As if she belonged to him, as if she was his possession. And maybe she was his? Maybe she had already been his, all along, ever since she was soulmarked to him?

"After going home yesterday, I thought about what you said," she began, yanking the toy out from her pocket. She kept it hidden beneath the steel table, in her lap. She wasn't quite ready for the surprise to be revealed just yet. "About how you wanted a kitty?"

"And?" he prompted eagerly, puffing out his cheeks. His eyes lit up and ignited in that same way they always did as he straightened in the chair like an excited child, his attention completely focused on her. "Did you get me a kitty?"

"Unfortunately no. Like I said yesterday, I couldn't get you a real live kitty, Mr. J." She wanted to draw it out for as long as possible, prolonging the surprise. "But I did get you something still. Hopefully you'll like it."

She could feel his knees jiggling beneath the table against hers as he rocked back and forth on his heels boisterously. "Ooh, you know I live for these moments with ya, Doctor. These... surprises. It's always so... so... _so much_ fun!" His voice rose to a higher volume, as if he was announcing the next performance on stage. A rumbling noise tearing through his teeth, he leaned forward, "What gift you got for me today?"

Cheeks straining from a wide smile at his infectious excitement, Harleen finally dropped all pretense, bringing the stuffed kitten up above the table. "I sorta lied," she gushed, squishing its tummy like she had in the store the night before, making its little paws flop and move. "I _did_ end up getting you a kitty!"

His reaction to the gift made Harleen bristle with pride. He shut his eyes, tilting his head towards the ceiling. He made a few moaning noises, as if it was almost too much to bare, her gift. It was partly the reason why Harleen thought she enjoyed giving him gifts so much; Like the plant. She relished his reactions and she could tell he genuinely, genuinely appreciated the gestures.

"So... thoughtful," he whispered in approval, and Harleen felt her cheeks flame with heat. "You're always so thoughtful. I wanted a real, live kitty which ya couldn't do for me... and then yet you _still_ get me a kitty! So, so _, so_ good to me!" Reopening his eyes and looking at her, Harleen felt blown away by how soft and gentle his expression was.

Although he could easily be abrasive-looking in appearance with the green hair and all the tattoos, there was just one particular way he looked at her that made Harleen feel like basking. It was a look that made her feel special. No one had ever looked at her before in all the ways that he did.

"So you still like it despite it not being a real kitty?" she asked hesitantly, moving its head with her fingers. "'Cause I know how you must've really wanted one, but... I just can't get you a real one in here, you know? It can still be like a real kitty though? I mean, you could always play-pretend, if you... wanted to?"

The Joker opened his mouth, then closed it, hesitating. She hated that he was. There was something he wanted to ask her, something he was unsure on whether he should, and she could tell. "You know, there _is_ something else that you could do for me, Doctor."

"Anything." The word flew out of her mouth carelessly as she dropped the toy on the table, leaning forward in her chair to give him her undivided attention. Anything. It startled her then, just how true that word was and just how much she meant it. Anything. She would do anything for him, and she realized that then with startling clarity. It was too quickly spoken, and she tried to mend it hastily while swiping a stray tendril of hair back beneath her ear, "I mean, okay. Sure."

"I need... _something_ that would be so, _so much_ more helpful than all of this other stuff, like... plants and kitties. There's... something else you could always get for me."

"What?" When he seemed filled with indecisiveness again, she prompted him impatiently with a gentle nudge of the tip of her stiletto beneath the table to his ankle, "Tell me. I can't know what you want if you don't just tell me, Mr. J."

"I need a... machine gun."

It was the very last thing she had been expecting him to ask of her. A few more things to brighten up his cell maybe, but... a machine gun of all things?

Harleen felt as though someone had knocked her off her feet brutally. The blood rushed to her cranium, her ears pounded. Suddenly, it was as though she had lost all sense of feeling in her arms and legs, and she felt them go slack. If she hadn't been sitting in the chair, Harleen was positive she would have fallen to her knees. Her mouth fell open in sheer shock. "A... a machine gun?"

She began to feel light-headed when he nodded once, his lips pulling back into a wide, gleaming grin.

"You... you want a..?" One hand fluttered to her neck as she gripped around it, clenching firmly down with her fingertips, centering herself back down onto earth. "You want me to get you a...a machine gun?"

"Ya know, I was, uh... thinking, Doctor Quinzel. I've been thinking a real, real lot lately." It was hard to focus on what he was saying, but she tried her best to recover, blinking heavily at him through the frames of her glasses.

All she could hear... all she could think was... _machine gun._

 _"_ I've been thinking about how when I get outta here, I want to... take you along with me."

 _Machine gun._

"We can start living the way we're supposed to. You and me, honey bunny. It'll just be you and me, Harley Quinn."

 _Machine gun._

"You can get me the gun, then I'll tear this place apart, take ya with me _, then_..." The _then_ was dramatically loud, "Then, it'll be you and me, baby." Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly in surprise when she felt his sock-clad toes stroke the part of her upper feet that was peeking through the leather of her stilettos. "What do you say, hmm? You want this?"

As his words slowly registered in, Harleen realized she did want it. Of course she did. The way he was describing it all to her, how he made it seem so exciting, so romantic and wonderful. How could she not want it? They bore each other's marks on their skin. She would only be preventing the natural course of things, and she didn't want that. She didn't want to deny. She wanted to accept and welcome it. She knew the sacrifices she would have to take in order to do this for him. It would mean the instant loss of her career, but the benefits outweighed the cons.

She'd never met anyone like him before, and the pull, the soulmark connection... to have someone that understood her on an intricate, deep level; Someone that didn't judge her because of the dark secrets she had admitted to, of sometimes wondering what it was like to take someone's life, to kill her mother. She'd waited over four years to find her soulmate and while their circumstances were not ideal, she could change them. She had the power to and he was giving that option to her. She could take the next step, help him break out of Arkham by assisting him in getting his hands on a gun.

That meant no more straitjackets, no more tedious doctor-patient routine. No more supervised visits in a session room. No more prison bars. Being able to touch him, to feel his hands actually on her, every caress without bindings or restraints in the way, being able to actually consummate their union- that was what Harleen felt she wanted and craved the most. She liked it and she wanted it. _You and me. Just you and me, baby_. It had a poignant ring to it, and she was ready to walk alongside him in the world. Though frightening, the idea of stepping outside of her comfort zone, leaving behind her career, she wanted it. She could see it as an adventure, as if she was running off to join the circus to be free, walking alongside him into a kaleidoscopic, blissful world.

No more having to pretend she didn't have different thoughts compared to everybody else. No more living a life of conformity, of being tied down to the pressures of society. Walking alongside someone like him, someone who seemed so... above conformity, someone who didn't care what others thought- not to mention, the inexplicable appeal of being attached to someone others considered so threatening, so dangerous and highly established in the criminal underworld- it was attractive to her.

She nodded wordlessly, the only thing she could manage. She didn't think her voice was capable of working.

"No, no, no. Just nodding is no... good." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Words. I need words. Say it." When he opened his eyes to look down at her, they were blazing with tenderness, beseeching. " _Say_ you want it. _Say_ it." He tilted his head forward meaningfully, beckoning her, " _Say_ it. Say, ' _Yes_ , I-'." He didn't need to finish.

"Yes, I...I want it with you," she spoke over him, her voice breathless and uneven. Even as the words left her, she knew he didn't quite believe her. His forehead creased near the 'Damaged' tattoo, his lips pulling down into a deep frown. She didn't sound assertive enough.

"Careful." His voice went different than she had ever heard it go before, in all their previous sessions. It was thready, desperate. He was heaving like a dehydrated dog, the front of the straitjacket rising and falling with each rapid inhalation and exhalation."Do _no_ t just say those words... if ya don't _truly mean_ them."

"But I.. I do." She cleared her throat, then repeated it, making her words seem stronger with conviction, "'Course I want it with you, Mr. J. I... I think I've been wanting it with you the moment I found out you were who I've been looking for. I'm ready to start our life together."

His mouth dropped open as his breath hitched in his throat, a noise of deep delight escaping him at her words. He was pleased, and that pleasure dripped off him like rainwater.

She tried it out into the open one last time, a wicked little thrill coursing through her, "I want it with you."

Now she just needed to get him a machine gun.

 **Thank you all so much for reading and for being so lovely. The kindness and response has blown me away, I never thought anyone would like this storyline or would think my writing is any good, so thank you!**

 **I apologize for taking so long to update, I had assignments and then I moved house, so I haven't had the time to write until now.**

 **Next chapter will be J's POV and Harley's. The story will definitely go up to M rating once Harleen joins J (Sexy times, murder, etc). Hope it wasn't disappointing. I've altered it a bit from the movie (dialogue anyway haha, hope that doesn't matter). I do hope they still are in character too somewhat, argh. I always worry. If there is any suggestions you have or things you would like to see, feel free to let me know. Thank you! :)**


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter 13**_

Harleen readjusted her handbag over her left shoulder and blew out between her teeth nervously before pushing into Gotham's Guns, one of the well-known gun and weapons retail stores in the City. She felt as though a jarful of butterflies had been unleashed into the pit of her stomach as she pushed her way inside, inspecting her surroundings anxiously.

It was like being a stranger in a foreign land, in strange territory. She hadn't even been in a store that sold guns before, no less had she even ever held one. It was sensory overload when she noticed all the guns lined up behind the counter, of various shapes and sizes. Mr. J wanted a machine gun, but what sort of machine gun?

She felt eyes watching her and turned her head, finding the salesman. He was a man that looked to be in his late sixties, wearing a ratty, stained flannel shirt and a baseball cap.

"Hi there. The names Harley," she said, forcing a smile. _Harley_. It came out so easily, so effortlessly, like donning on a mask. "Harley Quinn. Um, I'm sort of looking for a gun."

The man sighed heavily. "Well, you came to the right place, obviously," he muttered in a monotone, bored voice. "As you could see by the sign out front, we sell guns in here. You got any particular one in mind?"

 _Any particular one in mind? How was she even meant to answer that when she hadn't so much as touched a gun before?_

She moved towards a glass cabinet, feeling lost. There were guns everywhere. Everywhere, and so many different types of them. It was all so overwhelming. "Um, I'm actually not sure what sort I'm looking for," she admitted, one catching her eye. "What's this one, though?"

The man moved towards where she was looking to see what one she was referring to. "That's a Chiappa Rhino 60DS Revolver." He answered it as though the question were ridiculous and as though Harleen ought to have already known. "Usually, we prefer people to try before they buy. You want a closer look?"

Her jaw went slack as she peered up at the man in shock, the blood leeching out of her cheeks. What? Was he actually going to let her touch the thing?

She got her answer when he unlocked the cabinet, removing the gun out. Harleen's hands instinctively snatched it, surprising herself by her own eagerness. She gripped it with shaking fingers, marveling the lightness of it, how smooth and shiny it was.

"Wow," she accidentally laughed, pointing it in front of her towards the wall. "It's a lot less heavier than I was expecting. It's real... cute in a deadly way, too, if you get what I mean." The grips on the handle were white and she tested it with both hands. She never thought she would ever like the look of a gun before, but it felt somehow right. "Dainty, like you could hide it away in your handbag or purse or something."

Remembering Mr. J's words, she shook her head hastily, snapping out of it. She wasn't there to buy herself a revolver- though she felt tempted to.

She lifted a hand, pushing her glasses back over her nose. "Um, actually, I'm looking for something else more along the lines of a... machine gun, though I'm definitely interested in buying this one. You got any of those?"

The man shook his head in dismay, pointing behind her shoulder. When Harleen spun around to look herself, it felt as though her stomach had dropped right out of her chest. Along the wall, lining across them, were multiple machine guns, an extremely large selection of them.

 _Geeze, how was she meant to even begin knowing which machine gun Mr. J had had in mind?_

"Or.. you can test that one out back, first of all, seeing as you seem to like it so much?"

Her head whipped back to look at him, puzzled. Then it occurred to her that she was still gripping the revolver in both hands. She flexed her fingers around it again, enjoying the weight of it, how it felt. "Um, sure. Why not? Might as well, since your offering..."

Heart hammering, she followed him out back to a small shooting test area. The man took the gun from her, explaining how to load it with bullets. A cylinder, bullets placed in each empty chamber. He put two bullets in, then clicked it shut, passing it into Harleen's outstretched and eager hands. The anticipation to use it, to see how it would feel to shoot it, it astonished Harleen how excited she felt. Normally she never figured herself to be the type to like that sort of thing.

But tomorrow, she would no longer be Harleen Quinzel, Doctor. She would be Harleen Quinzel, ex-Doctor, running off with her soulmate; one of Gotham's most prominent figures of the underworld. She had to play her part, and part of that role would be having a gun of her own.

Everyone had to make sacrifices to be with the one person they bore a mark with, though the sacrifices she had to make in order to be with Mr. J were probably ones on the upper end of the scale to extremity level; Some had to move across the country to be with their soulmarked other half, while some had to compromise and quit their careers, give up their old lifestyle.

That was her reasoning, that was how she tried to think of it as, as a way to reduce how fearful she felt about what was bound to happen come tomorrow; When it came to these things, there couldn't be any pussy-footing around.

She had to jump in knee-deep with both feet. There couldn't be time for regrets or second-thoughts.

She felt ready. Even merely thinking about it, imagining them going off together, living a life together, whatever that life may be... it made her heart thump and beat rapidly in her chest like a monster. The eagerness to start a life with him, it overrode any trepidation she felt.

She followed the man's instructions willingly when he told her to stand with her feet shoulder-width apart, facing the board, the outline of a person's body. Then she used her dominant hand- her right- to grip around the handle, then her left to support it. She felt silly momentarily, her cheeks flushed. She straightened her elbows out, bringing the gun up, positioning it towards the outline of the head on the board.

"That's it. Now use your thumb to pull the hammer back."

She did as he said, holding her breath. It was electrifying, thrilling. She found she was holding her breath when she heard the hammer click twice into place. The fun part came next, and Harleen found she didn't need his guidance then. As if her slender forefinger had a mind of its own, it easily located the trigger, and she pressed down, squeezing it while focusing on steadying her breathing.

 _Bang._

Her body instinctively recoiled back at the sound, her glasses sliding to sit precariously close to the edge of her nose, and a loud giggle escaped her as her ears started ringing over the harsh shot that rang out. She fired again- the last bullet in the chamber- and another free, girlish laugh tore through her mouth, beneath her armpits dampening at the sound, her thigh muscles clenching; a light, weightless feeling overcoming her.

The sound when pulling the trigger, the loud boom. It was glorious. _Exhilarating._ Harleen never realized how powerful one could feel, simply by holding such a deadly weapon in both hands. It was almost erotic, she thought, holding something that was capable of doing such detrimental damage to someone.

Playfully, mockingly, she brought the barrel up to her lips, pretending to blow off sizzling smoke as she'd seen them do in the movies, her blue eyes focusing on where the bullet holes were on the target board.

One directly in the center of the head. The other in the middle of the chest. Apparently she was a natural. This gun, she would definitely be purchasing for herself, a little treat.

She could only just imagine how all the more thrilling it would be, shooting at a live target. Like her mother.

"I'll definitely get this one, but like I said, I'll need that machine gun, too. Hopefully you won't mind helping me pick the one best suited to my needs?"

* * *

 **Joker POV**

The Joker paced his small rat-cage of a cell, back and forth, back and forth, like a lion, a wild restless animal.

It all boiled down to this. To this one, final test that he had put to his Doctor.

Would she?

Wouldn't she?

He was becoming agitated with all of his minds ceaseless wondering. Ever since he had asked it of his little Harley Quinn at the end of yesterday's session, all he could seem to do was think... think... _think_. A groan left his gritted teeth as he shook his shoulders around, trying to beat the thoughts away physically. Hopefully all of his hard work would pay-off and she'd prove him right in the end.

It had all been building itself up to this moment. The favors, harmless at first, that built up into more dangerous, bigger, daring ones. He'd groomed her for this- and hopefully, it would pay-off. All she simply needed to do, was get him the machine gun.

A laugh almost escaped him whenever he thought of how gullible she was, how naive. Everything he had asked of her so far, she had done it. Like putty in his hands. A toy to mold into his image. And now, she'd prove her worth, succeeding in the last final test he had given her. Then, once it was all done and he was free of Arkham, he'd toss her aside, discarding her. His little chew-toy. His easily malleable Doctor.

He didn't need no Harleen Quinzel- or so he had been repeating to himself, over and over, when the foreign sensations kicked in, every time he was around her; every time he saw her smile and the way she seemed so taken by him.

He didn't need her, not when he was King. He was his own master- he didn't need some sentimental joke of a thing like a soulmark to tell him otherwise. She was just something he was playing with, inside, to amuse himself. It was all a big joke. The joke was on her.

He caught the gaze of one of the guards through the bars that were standing around patrolling his cell. A surge of mischievousness rattling through him, he brought up his hand, covering over his mouth, flashing his toothy grin tattoo on the back of it at them. He laughed in delight when the guard purposefully averted his gaze at his actions, evidently unnerved. He could smell the fear reeking off him.

No, the joke wasn't on her. The joke was on _them_. _All_ of them. They'd be dead by the time his Harley Quinn made good on her promise.

 _His Harley Quinn..._

What was he going to do with her afterwards? Kill her? Shoot her?

Every time he tried to picture himself doing something particularly violent to her, he felt disturbingly... hurt and affected by the idea. It just didn't derive any sense of pleasure out of him, the thought. When it came to others, like The Bat, for instance, yes, but... not _her._ Thinking of doing anything harmful to her made a foreign, dull squeezing sensation form in the cavity of his chest, where the muscular organs of his heart must be. In fact, all sensations she roused out of him by her mere presence alone, were... peculiar and unnatural to him.

He always felt so giddy in her presence. Tingly at the neck. So... _unbearably_ tight at the crotch.

 _"I've been thinking about how when I get outta here, I want to... take you along with me. You can get me the gun, then I'll tear this place apart, take ya with me... then it'll just be you and me, baby."_

Pitiful thing was, he had meant every word that he had said to her. How?

He'd gone through years and years of never wanting or needing anybody, deeming himself above all that sentimental, lovey stuff. Then... there she was, turning everything around onto itself, spinning his world around on an axis until she was the only thing he saw, the one thing he revolved around. How did she suddenly make him grow a conscience? How she was making him feel... he didn't like it. It was so degrading, so icky, and yet... there, they were. Feelings.

Unless Jonny was right, all along? With all that soulmate, namby-pamby chit-chat?

He just... _wanted_ her. He wanted her to be with him, everywhere. Mostly, he wanted her to be the Harley Quinn that he knew rested within her. He saw flickers and shades of it, every now and then.

He wanted to see her kill and laugh. The birdy had to be set free.

And the time for that... it was surely fast approaching.

Four hours. He had over four hours until he would see his Harley Quinn for their session. And hopefully she wouldn't come empty-handed, and would do him proud.

* * *

 _ **Jonny POV**_

Jonny Frost woke to the blaring sound of his alarm clock going off. Eight-thirty, right on the dot.

Extricating himself out of the tangled bed-sheets, he slammed it off, rubbing his eyes and around his beard groggily while his wife and soulmate, Shelley, groaned beside him in bed, having been brutally awoken herself.

"Jonny, what time is it?" she asked, her voice slurry and thick with sleep.

He threw a look back down at her, blinking heavily. "Eight-thirty."

"What? Only eight-thirty in the morning?" She rolled over on her side, huffing in annoyance as she dragged the covers over her bare shoulders. "Jesus, Jonny. What the hell did you set it this early for?"

He deliberated on whether to tell his wife the truth or not. Shelley and him, after having discovered they were soulmates, had been married for barely under three months now. Their meeting was nothing out of the ordinary; J had simply sent him off to get some new weapons, and he'd so happened to have ran into Shelley on his way out to the car. These three months of marriage had probably been the most important days of his life thus far. Not that he'd ever tell J or anyone else about it, of course. No, Jonny liked to keep his private life separate to his working life.

During all that time, he usually preferred to keep his midnight business dealings strictly to himself. She couldn't handle it, and he knew it would bother her, if she knew what it was he truly did with his time and just who it was he worked for; Coming home late with bloody knuckles and stained shirts. Reeking of gunpowder. The occasional smear of the bosses' lipstick when he got a little too mawkish when high on a cocktail of both alcohol and marijuana.

Fortunately for him, Shelley never asked questions. She just... did things. One time, after J decided he didn't want to trade weapons to another dealer, he'd gotten the crazy idea to just kill the guy and end his life, right there on the spot. It had resulted in Jonny getting blood smears on one of his most expensive and favorite tuxedos. When he had asked Shelley to wash his shirt for him later that night, luckily she never asked what those red smears were. She probably just assumed they were cranberry juice stains or something.

But that had been over a month ago, and lately, his time had been spare and less chaotic.

All he had to do was go to J's club of a night and ensure that it was running smoothly. Keep up business dealings with J's regular clients. Barter for weapons and drugs. Lately, ever since J had been cooped up inside of Arkham, it had probably been the smoothest, easiest four weeks of his life.

No more blood stains. No more stinking of gun residue, of smoke from explosions.

But the peaceful one month hiatus was now coming to a close. It was break-out day.

Just as J and him had planned, he would stay at Arkham for a month, enough to hook his Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Then Jonny would gather up the gang and hit the Asylum, guns a blazing.

He was going to smell like gunpowder residue and smoke again.

And he hoped to God Shelley wouldn't ask questions when he came home later that night after bailing J and, hopefully, his new squeeze and soulmate, out.

"Did you iron my tux like I asked you about?" he asked Shelley instead, hoping she wouldn't push the subject.

"Which one?"

"You know, the navy blue one? The one that goes with my striped tie?"

"Of course, I did. It's hanging in the closet."

"Thank God," he grumbled in relief, wiping his hands over his face again. Feeling alert enough, he stood from the bed, leaning down to kiss his wife on the soulmark just inches below the nape of her neck. She grumbled sleepily in response. He double-checked to make sure no one else so happened to be in the bedroom, which of course, was impossible, before he muttered quietly, "Love you."

She grunted it in return while he opened the door to the closet, finding the tux he had picked out specifically for the occasion. Grabbing his jacket off the hanger and his slacks, he wandered into the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him.

He wondered if Shelley would still be telling him she loved him back if she really knew what he did for a living; If she really knew that he was a master at aiming a gun at someone's head. If she knew that he'd killed countless men and disposed of over a million bodies when his boss was feeling trigger-happy. Would she still love him even then?

He shrugged to himself as he slicked back his hair, meeting his own reflection in the mirror. What was he even thinking about this for, on whether his wife would still love him? The hell she would. They're soulmates, and J was going to be a shining example of that, in how even the poster boy of insanity could get somebody to love him.

If even J had somebody out there in the world that was destined to be with his crazy ass, then didn't that mean there was hope for him and his wife as well?

* * *

Everything was ready, as far as Jonny could tell when he went to the secluded warehouse to where the van was waiting. As far as he could tell, everything looked as it should be. They were nearly ready. It was just a matter of the other guys suiting up and getting ready to go.

J was a huge fan of theatricality and Jonny wanted to do him proud.

A box artfully concealed with explosives was packed into the van, giving off the impression that it was a harmless order of toilet paper. Whoever received it wouldn't even know what was going to hit them when they opened it up and found themselves being blown into smithereens while toilet paper cascaded around them. Over five rifles for the guys, already loaded. J's favorite weapon- a bazooka. So far, everything was going swimmingly, as far as preparation went.

Satisfied with how things were looking, Jonny turned away from the van, his polished shoes scuffling on the concrete as he faced the gang around him. The boys were grudgingly getting suited up in their costumes- something J ordered them to do as a bit of a showy laugh, and Jonny wanted to keep his request alive.

Most of them weren't too bright, but they had loyalty down-pat.

"All right," he began loudly, clapping his hands together to get the gangs attention. One of the guys was struggling to fit his eyeball mask over his head, and Jonny sternly gestured for another one of the guys to help him. "Remember this isn't just about the boss. This is about the Doctor, too. Shoot anyone you see, but whatever you do, don't shoot the girl, all right? She's J's, which means she's off-limits. Don't forget that."

He glanced down at his wristwatch, then combed his fingers through his slicked hair. _It was time to get this show on the road._

* * *

Jonny never got quite used to the feeling of driving along in a van with five other heavily-costumed men as companions. Though he'd done it probably over thirty times already, it was still unsettling to glimpse through the mirror and see a poor imitation of Batman staring right back at him. Add to Batman, a large Panda and a red hog head, an eyeball.

J never expected Jonny to dress up in ridiculous, flamboyant costumes and, for that, he was grateful. He could only just imagine how much of a hindrance it would be; Trying to aim, getting bogged down with sweat wearing one of those things. At least, with his tuxedos, it was easier. Tuxedos were lighter and offered him more movement. It meant he could hit people with better precision.

Not to mention, it was a real pain understanding what any of the men were saying. The costumes muffled their voices. When he heard one of the men trying to speak to him from in the back seat, concealed by the panels, he had to strain his ears to make sense of it.

"What?" he called back. More muffled noises. He stomped down on the gas in irritation, throwing a look down at his watch again. They were going to be late. Hopefully J wouldn't mind too much.

What seemed like an eternity later, they reached Arkham. Jonny swerved the van up towards the back entrance, scoping out the heavy iron gates, the security wired fences. He pulled up in a vacant spot. Someone started muttering in the backseat again, and Jonny craned his neck around the seat to look at all the ridiculously dressed men.

"Look, I can't understand a single word any of you are saying," he told them with a heavy sigh. "But here's how it works. I'll go in there to reception or whatever, give them the delivery. Once you hear the explosion go off, it's your time to come in, all right?"

He looked between Eyeball and Batman, trying to work out whether they understood. The costumed faces remained the same. Blank. Expressionless. Then Jonny gave up with a frustrated oath under his breath, grabbing the box of 'delivery toilet paper'. He didn't understand why J always insisted on the other men doing this. He didn't want to make it easy on himself, did he?

Cradling the box gently under one arm, he opened the door and climbed out of the van, peering around again. Getting out of the premises should be easy. From what he could see, since there wasn't many cars at that hour of the morning, nothing would obstruct their way out.

Feeling around his tux jacket, making sure he had his gun, he strode towards the entrance. Inside, he couldn't see any guards. There was just a safety wired box where reception was. A woman that looked to be in her late fifties was in it, doing paperwork.

"Good morning. Can I help you?"

"I've got a delivery that you'll need to accept and sign." Jonny had done this routine a lot; the whole deliveryman act. He knew it by heart now.

The woman squinted at him. "Delivery? Oh, I don't know about that. Usually our deliveries don't come in until Wednesdays."

A surge of frustration blew through him. This was not going according to plan and, obviously, this middle-aged receptionist woman was a hard case. Fine. He'd have to make it easier on her then.

There was a space in the wire where people could fit things through and, luckily, it seemed big enough for the box to fit through easily. He wedged in it, and the woman took the bait.

He could almost hear J's laughter in his ears when the woman found her glasses, shoving them on to read the label on the packaging.

"Toilet paper, I'm sure it was," Jonny explained. "Somebody here ordered five packs of toilet paper?"

"Oh, yes. Then that must be for us then. If I rightly remember..." His heart began racing as the woman grabbed a knife, slicing the sticky-taped folds of the box undone.

Instinctively, Jonny stepped back. One step. Two step. Three, four. Until his elbow hit the wall behind him. He shut his eyes when it happened next. The explosives in the box weren't too high-powered- and he knew, he packed it himself- but it was enough to make the ground beneath him shake. Wires shattered apart in the boxed reception area, blood from the woman throwing speckles of red all over the place. Torn off bits of toilet paper cascaded around him in the air like confetti, along with glass and smoke.

J would have loved and savored the sight.

* * *

 **JOKER**

The Joker was being escorted out of his cage when he heard it.

Just as the heavy iron bars had been pulled back with a rattling clang and two guards were beckoning him forward to get him into his straitjacket, he heard it. Oh, boy, did he hear it.

It was music to his ears. Shuddering walls were his violins. _Bang-bang-bang_ noises from guns his symphony. The hard floor beneath his old socks trembled slightly with aftershocks of an explosive, a small bang resounding from a while away.

While all his babysitter guards shared expressions of confusion, of concern, The Joker felt exuberant.

He knew what this was. He'd just been so preoccupied with his Doctor Quinzel lately that he had forgotten all about the arrangement. A month in Arkham. Then Jonny would stage a breakout. As it turned out, he hadn't ended up needing his Doctor's assistance in getting his hands on a machine gun. Still, he'd like to know whether she had actually honored her word. Had it truly, really already been a month since he first let The Bat capture him and send him to Arkham?

It wasn't his Harley Quinn honey bunny that was the reason for all of those fun, blissfully chaotic sounds- though if it _had_ been her, it would have been one hell of a thing to see.

He reeled back on the heels of his feet, tilting his head upwards in glee, a laugh erupting from his mouth. Smug. Satisfied. _Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha._

More gunfire shots, closer, closer. Seeing the guards ready themselves, propelling into action with their weapons raised, The Joker moved back two paces, standing with his legs a shoulders width-apart, joy thrumming through his veins, excitement. Nothing got him off quite like the cacophony of chaos.

The door burst open as a round and spark of ammunition lit up before his eyes from a machine gun. Like a stack of cards standing upright and being blown by a sudden furious gush of wind, the guards fell around him, one by one, by a hail of bullets.

He cackled again in happiness once his vision cleared and he saw who was standing there by the doorway, machine gun still raised.

Jonny Boy. He was just so... good.

"Oh, joyful freedom, you found me," The Joker cooed out in a sing-song, quivering voice, shaking his arms at his sides, wringing his wrists. No more awful straitjacket, no more sore muscles. Just freedom.

But no, no, no. Something was missing. Something vital.

 _His Harley Quinn. Where? Where... was... she?_

 _Where? Where? Where?_

When Jonny passed him the machine gun, he realized what would have to happen now. This was a game, or so his mind processed it as. She was playing hide-and-seek in the building, his little Doctor was. After all, they were meant to have their session and, no doubt, she'd be there, somewhere.

And now... _now_ it was his duty to find her. Arkham was the fortress, the maze. Doctor Harleen Quinzel- Harley Quinn- was the winner's prize.

Firstly, he lifted a hand, preening, slicking back his green hair so he'd look good for his Queen. It felt so good, being able to move freely with no more pesky restraints. Now he just had to get out of his lousy prison jumpsuit garb, but there was always time for that later.

Breathing fast, almost gasping at their new game, he pushed past Jonny to begin the search, ignoring the painful shards of glass and debris that sliced through the thin material of his socks and bare feet as he went. He felt too ecstatic, too focused on their little game. When he found her, he wasn't sure what he was going to do to her.

Embracing his honey seemed like a good way to start, though.

A low, rumbling moan left him at the thought- touching her, feeling her skin beneath his hands, pulling hanks of that lovely thick blonde hair of hers- as he rested the butt of the gun onto his shoulder, stumbling past dead bodies and pools of blood. When he reached the end of one corridor, he began to feel it then.

That all-too-familiar sensation lately. The cursive lines on his soulmark burned, tingled with an itch.

She was near. His red lips pulled back into a wide, giddy grin at the knowledge.

 _Come on, baby,_ he thought to himself longingly as he paused near the clear entryway of another room. _Come on, come on._ He chanted the words inside his head like an owner calling out to their cherished pet. _Where are you? Come. Come straight to daddy._

The tingling, itchiness intensified as he stepped into the room, surveying it. His heart felt as though it were racing a mile a minute due to their little game. Something a shade of blue caught his eye from beneath a dark mahogany wooden desk- her navy blue blouse that she often wore during their romantic sessions together-and he knew where she was then. He'd found her, at last. He'd won. She was hiding. His little Doctor was hiding beneath what no doubt was _her_ desk, it must have been; Littered with all of his files on top and a coffee cup, the color of her blouse peeking through the gap of her tucked in chair, as she hid, her slender shoulders trembling while she held her breath.

He motioned silently with an incline of his chin for Jonny to head into the room first. Then he decided he couldn't keep it in any longer, he just couldn't resist.

"Ooh, what do we have here?"

 **Thank you so much for your lovely words, it means so much to me and it really does make my day. Hope this one was okay? Sorry about the multiple points of views, there was so much action I wanted to include haha. Sorry if its a disappointment. Feel free to let me know what you think :) Like always, hope characterization was okay. Sorry if it wasn't! I try to thank every single reviewer, but if I've missed someone (or you're a guest and I can't reply) thank you so much, I send my gratitude, and please know your words are fully appreciated.**

 **Just a question: Would you prefer I stick to the film and have J electroshock Harleen? Or, seeing as she's basically ready to head off and join his side, should I skip that torture part? I am so conflicted right now on whether I should haha. I loved the whole Mickey/Mallory and Bonnie/Clyde aspect to their relationship, so I'm not sure if that scene would be necessary here. Please help if you want and let me know what you would like! :)**


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter 14**_

 ** _That morning..._**

Harleen hadn't realized what was happening, at first.

In a daze, she went to make a fresh cup of coffee in Arkham's staff area, hoping it would have woken her up a little before her session with Mr. J. She hadn't slept well the night before, though she couldn't tell whether it was from either excitement or anxiety that caused her a restless night. Her eyes felt heavy and grainy as she flicked on the switch for the hot water to boil, her mind buzzing.

She'd brought another bag in today as well as her usual leather handbag; a sports duffle bag that she used to use constantly when going to the gymnasium. But that had been months and months ago since she'd last had any good use for it. Now, it was coming in handy in a big way.

Now, it was concealing all pieces of the weapon in her bag wonderfully, which she had also thought to wrap up carefully in a towel in case someone in Arkham thought to investigate. If anyone asked, she'd lie and say she was just planning to head out to the gym later. It seemed realistic and a good enough excuse, though she had been in for a big shock when she had tried to pull the strap of the bag over her shoulder on the way in that morning.

With all the machine gun parts, the duffle bag had sagged, the straps straining against all the heavy extra weight.

She just hoped Mr. J knew all the ways to assemble a machine gun.

There had been so many parts; so many she had marveled at when she got home. She had laid it all out onto the carpet while she sat, cross-legged, examining it all, her head pounding in both wonder and confusion. At least the revolver she had decadently purchased for herself was that much simpler to assemble, and the man's advice on how to use it in the shop had definitely helped her. Her little treat for herself was currently hidden in her bag.

The hidden knowledge that she had both a machine gun and her revolver with her- that she had managed to walk into Arkham easily without someone so much as having even bat an eyelid at her- it made her feel more alert, more energized and giddy.

Perhaps she wouldn't need that dose of caffeine in her morning coffee after all?

She heard voices from behind her out in the hallway, and Harleen turned to look anxiously, her heart thumping, her throat tightening. Two of the men from security walked in, chatting about their weekends, minding their own business. She turned back to where the water was boiling, forcing herself to move, distracting herself by getting her cup and a spoon.

She could feel the sweat starting to gather beneath her blouse already, her palms going slick. She could feel her hand shaking uncontrollably as she spooned sugar into her cup. Then when she went to spoon in the pre-ground coffee, she realized her hand was that unsteady that she spilled a light dusting of powdered coffee onto the counter.

Why did she have to feel so apprehensive and easily startled by another staff members mere presence today? She'd give herself away if she kept going on the way she was, and she couldn't afford to do that. She wanted this. She needed this. Mr. J needed this. He was counting on her.

It was the only way they could start having a proper life together.

Harleen wondered if this was how most people felt before they did something dangerous and unlawful like this. Did criminals get like this before they followed through and committed the crime?

She remembered a time when she was younger, about sixteen or seventeen, where she stole something for the very first time. It had only been something small and insignificant; something she badly wanted yet couldn't have afforded at the time.

It had been so nerve-wracking, yet oddly thrilling as well, that first time. Addictive. Liberating.

The cautious looks thrown around to make sure no one was clued-in onto what she was doing. The little sparks of excitement thrumming through her as her hand went closer and closer to the pocket of her handbag with the product. The urge to laugh as her fingernails picked and plucked at the price-tag desperately, trying to peel it off so that it wouldn't set the alarm off once she walked out the store.

The danger of being caught. The unknown consequences that would have to be faced for committing the crime.

It had been so long since she had last stolen anything, but the feeling felt comparable to what Harleen thought she was feeling now.

Something caught her eye near the window as she went to fill her cup with the boiling water.

A van pulled up in the staff parking area, though whoever had parked it had done a terrible job with it; They didn't seem to care that they were obstructing most of the cars from getting out of the parking lot. They didn't even seem to care about positioning the van right.

She saw a man, dressed extravagantly in a nice suit hop out, carrying a box tucked beneath one arm. Arkham usually had delivery vans call in from time to time when supplies for both staff and inmates were running low, but the drivers usually weren't dressed as good as this one was.

Harleen moved her gaze for barely a second to get the carton of milk out from in the fridge, her glasses sliding halfway down her nose as she bent low. She was just fixing them, pushing the frames back in place, when a weird noise sounded from far-off, like a car backfiring or an... explosion.

Lifting her head up to peer outside the window again, she saw it. The side of the van slid open, and she got perfect view as around four or five men jumped out, only they weren't just your usual men. Their faces were covered, obstructed by ridiculous costume-wear.

One tall guy in bright orange overalls with a round eyeball mask concealing his face. Another, a giant panda, like one of those teddy-bear ones you won as a prize at a carnival. Placing both elbows against the counter and quickly forgetting her coffee over the bizarre sight, she leaned closer to get a better glimpse, the tip of her nose almost touching the glass. Eyeball passed something to panda, something long and thin. Were they... guns?

Her eyebrows arched in surprise, her soulmark tingling dully.

Something was definitely... off about it all. What the hell was going on?

Her heart seemed to freeze in her chest when the last man climbed out of the van. Batman. Only, it wasn't Batman, not the real Batsy anyway. Harleen could tell. It was a costume, a poor imitation of Gotham's 'most beloved' vigilante.

"You are _so not_ Batsy," she murmured to herself in disgust before she could stop herself, watching fake Batman grab what looked like a hammer and a rifle from out of the van.

Then she threw a glance back behind her shoulder, sighing in relief. No one was hanging around the staff area. Luckily, the two men had disappeared.

But what was with all the silly costumes? Halloween wasn't due for a full-month. And why were they even hitting up Arkham for? Arkham didn't have much money kept in the premises. They couldn't even get decent enough funding from the government of Gotham as it was, to help provide for more bedding for the inmates. So why were they planning to raid Arkham for?

 _Unless... Mr. J?_

She wedged her palm through her blouse, holding it flat against the green lines of her soulmark, skin-on-skin contact. Sometimes, it helped to ease the tingling a little bit; asserting pressure with her cool hand held into it, only it didn't seem to soothe it now. Something was wrong. There was a weird feeling there that Harleen couldn't understand, an unnerving feeling about the entire situation and what she had just witnessed outside.

Then it happened.

A loud banging noise echoed from faraway and, instinctively, she sunk to the floor, crouching as the noises grew even louder and louder. She felt the urge to cover her ears, but she suppressed it, her heart beating in her chest, adrenaline building. There was so much noise, so much... activity. Like a war was going on or something. Sounds of bullets ricocheting of walls, muffled voices. Screams. More gunfire.

Her eyes sought out the duffle bag and her handbag strewn and tucked beneath her chair. They were less than a meter away, hidden beneath her desk. There wasn't enough time to think, just time to... act.

She charged on her knees, flinging herself across the floor, scooting towards where her handbag lay beneath her desk. She'd heard how people react in different ways to situations like this; Some freeze up, some go into fight or flight mode. Harleen's first instinct was to fight, to grab her revolver, though the niggling ache around her abdomen, her soulmark, it was... distracting.

Her soulmark, the feeling across it, it was so intense, almost painfully annoying, something she hadn't experienced ever before. What was going on with Mr. J?

Her trembling fingers had just snatched at her handbag when she became aware of it. Directly in front of her, standing over her, was someone. Her eyes shot up and she blinked through the lenses of her glasses, her heart plummeting in her chest.

 _Batsy._ Imitation Batsy was standing there, his rifle pointed right at her head.

"You Doctor Harleen Quinzel?" It was definitely a male, and her first assumptions had been correct. His voice was low, muffled by the fabric of the poorly-made mask.

"Why?" Keep him talking, her mind screamed at her, her fingers yanking down her zipper. Keep him distracted and talking. "What's it to you, whether I'm Doctor Harleen Quinzel or not? Huh?"

Her blue eyes alternated between looking at the Batsy mask, to the rifle pointed at her.

"What are you going to do?"

She wasn't sure what she was doing, or what had come over her. All she became aware of, was how cold she felt. How empty. It was no doubt not the most rational way to feel, if someone were a threat, pointing a loaded weapon directly at your forehead. But she felt surprisingly empty. Unconcerned.

"What? You gonna shoot me?" The taunt left her tongue impulsively, and an elated sliver coursed through her. Her pinky finger pressed against cool, smooth metal in her handbag. "Is that why you're here? You're going to kill me all because I'm her? All because I'm Doctor Harleen Quinzel?"

A strange thing happened next. Imitation Batsy lowered the rifle, moving it towards the floor at her words. Her brows furrowed in confusion, her eyes narrowed. _What? So he wasn't going to shoot her now? Why not her? What made her the exception?_

What caused it to happen, she wasn't even sure. Her hand slipped over the white grip of her revolver and, next thing she knew, one beautiful, loud shot rang out. Imitation Batsy fell back on the floor, a warm gushing spray of blood hitting across her face. Suddenly, she felt as though she had been running all day long, doing a four hour long marathon, and she sagged back against the hard wood side of her desk wearily, letting her hand drop and the gun hit her knee, drained both mentally and physically.

She moved her eyes over Imitation Batsy where he lay, motionless. He had fallen at a funny angle; one leg tucked over the other, his arms floppy and drooped at a convoluted angle. She couldn't hear him breathing at all. He was so silent, so... eerily peaceful. Lifting off on one knee to get a better look without moving, she saw a gaping hole in his head, a pool of blood surrounding him.

She'd shot him. One fatal shot to the head. And now, he was _dead_.

 _Dead._ She _killed_ him. Dead. His blood on her. _His blood_.

Her hands moved frantically over her face, swiping and wiping away at the blood. She glanced down at the long sleeves of her blouse, at her hands. Blood. There were so many little smears of shiny red blood everywhere, dotting her. She wondered if she had gone into some sort of emotional shock. She felt nothing, nothing but unease that his blood were on her.

She was probably meant to feel guilty. Remorseful or sad, even, at her actions, at what she had done. She felt... blank. Like a previously written-on chalkboard that had been just wiped clean. There was nothing there. A hollowness. She felt... _nothing_ at all.

Nothing but the inappropriate urge to laugh at how humorous he looked, lying there on his deathbed, dressed in the most stupidest costume she had ever seen in her entire life. Her breath felt hot in the back of her throat with the giggle she suppressed at the thought of this man having an open casket, a funeral with him lying there, in his coffin, Imitation Batsy while his grieving family stood over him.

She cupped a hand over her mouth, her body shaking, wracking with silent laughs at the image that crossed her mind, so vividly, of his young family standing there by his casket, looking over him, startled to find him dressed like Batsy, of all people.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard more footsteps and gun blasts. The laughter and all amusement fading from her, she pressed as far back against the side of her desk as she could, wishing to make herself small, invisible. Her eyes remained glued to Imitation Batsy's lifeless body, her eye wide like saucers as she listened carefully to her surroundings.

The gunfire had seemed to have died down. Everything in the building was heavenly quiet now; the serene quiet after a raging storm. Maybe some of the guards had successfully put an end to it? Or maybe the bad guys in the costumes had won? She couldn't be sure. Reaching down blindly, her fingers found her revolver again and she picked it up, holding it in a vice-like grip with both hands. It reassured her, such a simple gesture.

She heard footsteps approaching, and she loosened one hand from around the gun, pressing it up against her mouth again, over her nose. She closed her eyes tightly, hoping to keep as quiet as possible, her spine erect against the side of her desk. Someone had come into the room. Two people. Four feet.

Then, a voice. A crooning energetic voice that, along with it, wrecked havok on her soulmark.

"Ooh, what do we have here?"

 _Mr. J?_

Her eyes popped open at the familiarity of that voice, her heart rate accelerating. Something warm and filled with immense relief gushed over her, trickling and soaking into her pores like a sponge.

Without even a single coherent thought into her safety, Harleen brought herself to stand, which was quite a feat given how shaky her legs had become at the sound of his voice, how her knees cracked and buckled with the movement. Loosening her hands grip around the revolver, she turned towards his voice eagerly, her heart feeling as though someone was clenching it in their grip.

There he was, and the words on her soulmark seemed to buzz when she looked at him. No longer in a straitjacket, shirtless with just his light blue prison trousers on. Both hands now free and one holding a large machine gun casually draped on his shoulder, he had his crimson lips pulled back into a wide grin at her, his silver teeth gleaming at her appreciatively.

It was overwhelming; everything she felt, all at once, just at the mere sight of him standing there, smiling at her. She found she had to take in a deep, unsteady breath.

His hand uncurled from the large machine gun he was holding carelessly. As it clattered to the ground loudly behind him, he strode forward two paces, both of his legs spread shoulder length apart as he crouched slightly; muscular long arms open wide and hands outstretched towards her invitingly, as if he were a batter and she were the ball, as if he were bracing himself to catch something, to catch... _her_.

The Joker wiggled his slender fingers at her, rolling his head on his neck, stretching various tendons and muscles. "You better come here and let me finally hold ya, honey bunny. Come here, come here." The words were deep, guttural. Desperate. "Come to Daddy."

Feeling as though she had invisible strings attached to her, strings that were powerfully reeling her in closer and closer towards him, Harleen moved. She wasn't even sure how her legs managed to support her and keep her upright, but somehow, they did. Her gun fell to the floor and, next thing she knew, she was twining her arms tightly around his neck as he reached down with his hands, grasping around her upper thighs, pulling her up off the ground and into him effortlessly with all his strength, Harleen's thighs automatically clenching around him.

He held her as close as two people could humanly get, a painfully wide smile straining and aching Harleen's cheeks. It felt so satisfying, so gratifying, to now have the chance to do this. To touch, to have him hold her. No supervision, no straitjackets. Just her and him.

"I... I got your machine gun for you," she admitted quietly, reluctantly. "I guess, as it turns out, its too late and you don't really need it anymore, do you?"

"So ya _did_ end up getting it for me?" His laughter at that was loud and slow, making Harleen's cheeks burn as he looked her over, mirth shining. It was as if he was looking at her with a brand new pair of eyes, as if he was seeing her in a whole new light. "You really are _so...so good_ to me, aren't you?" He brought up one of his hands, running the back of his calloused knuckles down along the side of her cheek. Her eyes clenched involuntarily as she lost herself in his touch, at the gentleness of it. "You... _spoil_ me. _So_ good."

A deep rumbling noise came from him in the pit of his throat, as if he relished the feeling of at last having her in his arms himself while he inspected her face closely with his fervently bright grayish-blue eyes.

It felt like home, like where she belonged. In his arms, it felt like returning home after a long stay spent elsewhere. Arriving home, taking off her too-tight shoes, finally fully being able to relax, to feel safe and whole again. She never realized something as simple as having him hold her would make her feel this way. Yet it did, and she untangled her arms from around his neck, only to use her hands, feeling around the pale masculine muscles of his throat experimentally, tenderly. If she looked close enough, she could see his soulmark throbbing above his pulse.

She wasn't sure whether it was a strange soulmate thing; a compulsion for closeness after having been denied it for so long. But now that she was there, now that she could actually touch him, Harleen felt as though she didn't want to stop.

Her chin was forced into the side of his shoulder as he swiftly moved, pushing his green head closer, his mouth finding the shell of her ear as he spoke in low, gravelly, enticing tones, "What do ya say we quickly skedaddle out of here before the fun police arrive, hmm?" She could feel his voice reverberating straight through his skin to hers. "You want this, Harley Quinn?"

It was as though he was seeking reassurance, she felt; As though he wanted to make sure she still wanted what they had planned earlier, that she hadn't changed her mind since yesterday when she promised that she wanted to start living her life with him, that she'd get him the machine gun.

Past his shoulder and blinking through the frames of her glasses, she could see the pool of blood half-coagulated on the floor, Imitation Batsy still lying there, the gaping bullet-wound in his forehead. The sight was reason enough that everything should change, that nothing could ever remain the same.

"Yeah, I... I." Her throat closed over as she averted her eyes from the sight, her belly clenching, stomach whirling. The remorse, the guilt, it still was absent. Would it ever settle in?

"Hmm?" It was a demanding moan that tickled around her ear, shaking her back to the present and what he was asking of her. "What's that?" His lipstick coated mouth fluttered against her ear, leaving it feeling slick, greasy. "I can't seem to hear ya?"

"Yeah, I want it." Harleen was pleased how assertive her voice sounded, how strong and sincere. "I _still_ want it, Mr. J." And it was true. She did want it, and now, now it was happening.

A gasping-grunting noise left him, echoing in her ear; one filled with both surprise and pleasure. "Then let's go, baby." The words were a rapid, hoarse song as he extricated himself away from her, Harleen sliding back onto her stilettos unsteadily, "Lets go, lets go, lets go."

There was no going back, ever. No more being a psychiatrist, no more Harleen Quinzel.

No more ordinary life, no more trying to fit in, to act like everyone else, to have to live by conformity and all of societies rules and regulations. No more sad and lonely Doctor Harleen Quinzel. No more desperate and unloved Harleen Quinzel, the young woman who tried constantly to win over her mother, to gain her love and approval. She was ready to shed her skin, to be who she felt she truly was supposed to be, what _he_ saw her to be.

 _Harley Quinn._

Just freedom. _Freedom_ at last, with her soulmate.

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you are okay with the decision I made to not include the torture scene? I felt it unnecessary because she wants to live a similar life to his as soulmates anyway :) The chemical wedding scene at Ace Chemicals will still be coming up, as that's such a pivotal moment for these two (and where she mostly changes in appearance, I guess). Thank you so much for being so kind, it really makes my day. I'm hell anxious about this one, so please do be gentle on me if its lousy or quite cheesy. I've been cramming this out while doing homework at the same time, so I apologize if its badly done or if I've failed with keeping their characters true! Thank you!**

 **P.S: Sorry if I've written Harleen boring or mindless, as a reviewer said. I've never written fanfic for these two before, and obviously I'm not an experienced writer, so I'm bound to make mistakes. Sorry! I've been busy with study and assignments at the moment, but I haven't forgotten! So sorry I'm taking a while but an update will be here soon! Thank you!**


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter 15**_

 _ **JOKER POV**_

As they got to the corridor, Harleen spoke up, pulling back from him.

"Wait," she panted, and he watched her turn back the way they had come. "I wanna get my bag and my gun."

He watched her race back down the corridor while impatiently tonguing around his grill. They really didn't have time for this. The cops could come any second now to ruin their fun. As Joker waited, his mind became torn with every annoying second that passed. Really, what was he doing? Jonny had broken him out as arranged and, as it turned out, his little Doctor hadn't failed him. She had actually gotten him a machine gun. And now, here he was, actually waiting to take her along with them?

That voice in his head, that constant nagging prideful voice, told him that he didn't need her. He didn't need no Harley Quinn, no Doctor Harleen Quinzel, despite his body signalling otherwise. He could feel his heart racing in excitement, his soulmark tingling.

He didn't do a sappy concept like soulmates. He didn't _do_ love.

He caught the abandoned room out of the corner of his eye. The room where he had been sent to, four or five times, while being an inmate at Arkham. Shock therapy. He'd experienced many things over the years, but shock therapy... Shock therapy was a real pain. It wasn't so much how it felt at the time, being strapped down to a table in full restraints while crazy Doctors fussed and fawned over him, shoving a mouth guard into his mouth and getting the zapping toys ready. He could never remember much of the pain of his brain being fried into mush, but it was afterwards that always was never that much of a hoot. The painful, sore jaw. The mouth that felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. The constant pounding in his cranium, the lightheaded sensations.

He had the wicked idea come to him then, and he laughed to himself, loudly, ecstatically.

 _Oh, this was gonna be fun. What fun he had in store for his faithful little Doctor Quinzel._

She couldn't see what was going to happen next, of how much fun they were going to have. He could see it in the way her heels clacked and echoed excitedly along the hallway again, the way she raced to meet him, already so much like that Harley Quinn he had envisioned, brimming and breathing heavily in excitement. She adjusted the strap of her bag around her shoulder, then she tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. _So lovesick. So naive._

"Got my things," she said, in a foolishly breathless way. "I'm ready if you are."

"Jonny." All it took was Joker to nod his head, and Jonny moved into action. Oh, so faithful.

He watched her muscles tense, her body bracing to run. All the emotion flitting through her eyes... confusion, fear. But she didn't get to run away. Jonny was too quick.

He caught her with both hands gripping her upper arms, and Joker relished the scream she let out, thrashing around. She was a fighter and it was such a joy to watch.

"Get off me," she shrieked in warning, her framed eyes glinting dangerously. "I said, get off!"

He didn't need no Doctor Harley Quinn, he repeated to himself as he helped Jonny strap her down to that same table he had been strapped to numerous times. He didn't need no soulmate, no matter how much his soulmark was tingling.

"Jesus, Mr. J." The buttons on her blue blouse strained against her deep exertions as she looked up at him, her hands flailing to get her wrists free from the restraints. Her eyes were wild, panicked, darting everywhere. "Mr. J, what are you doing?"

He ignored her, reaching for the prongs. One switch on the electroshock machine was all it needed for it to get up and running, the dials showing the immediate surge of electricity pulsing.

"I thought we were going? So what are you doing?"

Her constant high-pitched chit-chat was suddenly grating on him. Growling through his teeth, he reached down, covering her mouth, chuckling internally at how his smiley tattoo on the back of his hand covered her perfectly. The widening of her blue eyes, the uncertainty in them, the feeling of her warm lips puckering against his palm... it was thrilling.

"Shh, shh, shh," he interrupted throatily. "We're gonna play a game. And lucky, lucky, _lucky you_ , ya get to go first." He bent over her, studying her face at a close angle for a moment, scrutinizing his little Harley Quinn up close with his eyes. She was rather beautiful, he thought grudgingly, his soulmark's aching growing more profound. Bent over her, while she was so utterly powerless, so stuck and at his mercy. It would be such a shame to break her, yet it would be...so...much... fun. "You wanna play, hmm?"

To his astonishment, the fear died in her eyes. He could feel her breaths through her nostrils tickling his hand in a steady, constant rhythm. Her eyes said yes, and he felt her nod against his hand. A noise of uncontrollable delight escaped Joker's throat. So full of surprises, his Harley Quinn was. So ready to play. So easy to mold.

He took his hand away with a flourish and grinned at her, watching the way she peered up at him, her eyes bright, eager.

"I'd do _anything_ for you," she began, her voice breaking. So passionate. So cloying. "After I got you the gun to help you get out of here so that we can begin our lives together, can't you-?"

He felt a wave of disgust over her sickly sweet words.

"Ah ah ah," he scolded in annoyance, pressing a finger to her lips in consternation. "Shh."

She watched every movement he made, her eyes cautious, on-guard. When he grabbed the prongs again, he did a little playful swishing movement with them, as though he were guiding an orchestra on stage.

"So what... what are you gonna do now?" she panted unevenly, and he knew she got the game then. It was like breaking a little kid's heart, how deflated she suddenly looked. "You gonna kill me, Mr. J? Huh? After _everything_ I've done for you? All the presents... making sure you're all right with your living arrangements?" She licked her lips, clearing her throat. "You can't kill me, Mr. J." What she said next, it had him gasping at her sheer nerve. Her voice changed, to the point where she sounded so fearless, so defiant. His little cheeky Doctor. "Want to know how I know that, huh?"

He played along, waving the prongs in the air again between them as a laugh erupted from his mouth. "Why's that, hmm?" He pretended not to be able to hear her as he hovered inches from her face again.

"'Cause we're soulmates." Her wounds stung. How determined she sounded, how confident. "You can't kill me, Mr. J. It's not possible. We belong together."

"Oh, really? It's _not possible_ , hmm?" he mocked deeply. "Not possible? Not _possible_? Well, who said anything about killing ya, hmm?"

She shifted against the table, trying to get free again. He loved watching her struggle.

"Oh, no, no. You see, I'm not gonna kill ya," he said, "I'm just gonna hurt ya. Really, _really_ bad."

"Do it then!" She surprised him again, her eagerness, her passiveness to everything he was about to dish out on her. "I think I can take it!" It was like a challenge, a provocation. "What's the worst you can do to me, huh?"

"Oh, careful. Careful, _careful_."

Jonny put the the guard in her mouth, and then Joker braced himself, moving the electric-pulsing prongs towards her cranium. He wondered if what she said was true. It griped at him. Could he really not kill her? Could it truly be impossible, all because of the one, namby-pamby thing that brought them together? The one thing that connected them? Their soulmarks?

It became a test, more so than a game. A test of not only seeing how much she could take, how much she would let him do, but also... a test on whether he actually could kill her or not. And turning her brain into scrambled eggs... That seemed a sentence worse than killing.

The closer the rods went towards her temples, the more and more... weak he felt. Indecisive, a feeling he had never felt before. He'd went through life doing as he pleased, killing whomever he wanted simply because it was a good joke. He'd never had second doubts, and he'd never felt bad. Everything was funny to him. But this... the way she made him feel as he got closer and closer with the metal rods...

He hesitated, holding the prongs barely a hair's length away from her skull. His soulmark was pounding furiously at the side of his throat, like a bruise that had just developed beneath the skin, tender, blistered. He snarled through gritted teeth, forcing himself to grin as he squinted down at her, concentrating hard.

He didn't need her. He did not do love.

He did not need his Harley Quinn.

The past month- all their sessions together- the gifts, the footsie games, it had all been orchestrated by him. He had merely been manipulating her and using the knowledge of their soulmarks to his advantage. She was a puppet he had pulled the strings of, until she did the one last final thing in getting him a machine gun. He had no personal feelings for her. Nothing romantic or sappy had developed for her during their sessions together.

She was just a toy. A toy that was fatefully handed down to him due to them being 'soulmates'. Or so he tried to convince himself.

Joker was a state of mind. An enigma. A one-man show who needed nothing or nobody. He was not someone who was loved. Love was just not something he did.

When the metal rods finally connected with her skin and she started trembling all over, seizing up uncontrollably against the table like a fish out of water with a painful cry tearing through her teeth, muffled by the mouth guard, his heart soured in relief.

He _could_ still do it and he wasn't losing his touch. She was wrong.

A pitiful pain-in-the-ass thing like soulmarks connecting them couldn't change that.

He watched her thrash against the table, just like he knew he had all those times before, her teeth clenched tight and gleaming, her lips pulled back in agony. Her eyes were squeezed tight through the lenses of her glasses, tears cascading down her cheeks. He thought he'd feel euphoric, powerful. And he did, for a few fleeting moments there.

Then, unthinkingly, it changed. Suddenly, watching her didn't seem hilarious. As she gnawed down on the mouth guard, tears rolling down her cheeks... Joker had the oddest experience imaginable. No laughter tickled him, no sense of happiness. A strange feeling burst through his chest at the sight of her, and he frowned deeply as he struggled to process it. It was a feeling unlike anything he had ever felt before. He felt no joy at watching her in pain. He felt horrifyingly... empty. Almost regretful.

Weak. His heart constricted, and without thought, he pulled the prongs back away from her skin. He dropped them carelessly to the ground, stumbling backwards, loathing the foreign feelings welling up inside of him at the mere sight of her tears, of her scrunched-up face.

Was it... tenderness he was feeling? Compassion?

No, no, no. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this at all.

He sensed Jonny watching him and, masking his confusion, he forced out a laugh while bringing both hands up, combing his fingers through his slick green hair. "Ha ha ha ha... ha ha." The laughter sounded pathetic and hollow, displeasing him. What was she doing to him?

Disturbed by what she was making him feel, Joker turned away with difficulty, focusing on Jonny.

"Let's go," he rumbled out in annoyance.

He saw Jonny hesitate, glancing down at Harleen uncertainly. "But Boss, I thought you said to get the-"

"-Let's go," Joker repeated, an acerbic distasteful tang coating his tongue. "Just leave her. Playtime's over."

As Jonny slowly moved towards the doorway, Joker threw one last look at his Doctor. She was crumpled over the table, shaking furiously, eyes still shut tight, teeth gritted over the mouth guard. A ripple of humiliation passed through his stomach at the thought of Jonny noticing his unwanted reaction to his Doctor. The instance his eyes landed on her face, at the dampness coating her cheekbones, his soulmark went at it again.

In irritation, he threw up his hand, smacking his palm roughly against the side of his throat over the pulsating mark with full-force. Finally, he seemed to find his sense of humor again and he cackled to himself at the pain the impact his hand had on his neck.

He felt weighed down as he managed to get to the van. Peeling the sliding door back, he jumped inside, moaning in glee when he noticed Jonny had bothered to bring one of his jackets for him. He slid his arms into it, marveling the long-lost feeling of the leather rubbing against his bare arms, the friction. How good it felt to be out of those crappy prison clothes. How good it felt to be out of his cage, out of his straitjacket.

He shot one last look up at Arkham, and namely, that one little Doctor that was still inside it. "Bye, bye," he sang to himself, then he gripped the handle, wrenching the van door completely shut. He knew he'd feel better once he got back to the bump-and-grind of his usual routine. Yet, disturbingly, the look on his Doctor's face as he had left her, how forlorn and in pain she had appeared, it occupied his thoughts.

 **So sorry I took so long to update. I've had lots of homework to do and didn't have time until now. I apologize if this chapter is a bit crappy. I feel a little rusty. Just got to watch the extended cut of SS, where there was a Joker and Harley scene so it influenced and changed my idea of where to take the story a little. Hope you won't mind the change. As usual, would love to know your thoughts! Again, sorry if its a bad chapter!**

 **Hope the characterization is okay as usual. One of my worries always lol, especially with Joker. Thank you so much for being so kind!**


	16. Let Me In

_**Chapter 16**_

His return back to being King, back to being the Clown Prince, went rather smoothly.

Hours after his escape from the crazy prison Arkham where he'd been held at, Joker found it quite easy to blend back into his usual business like normal. It was almost as if he hadn't been away in the first place, being committed into the loony asylum.

 _Almost._

Jonny had known intuitively what J was expecting for his homecoming. He knew J well enough to know that he'd expect a big bang, a big celebration once he got back into the club for the night. So that was exactly what Jonny made sure he planned; A big celebration, a big round of applause for J the instance he got into the club by the regular patrons, a big fanfare home-welcoming.

You didn't disappoint J very often and get away with it- that rule was always at the forefront of Jonny's mind. While J was out and about, getting comfortable with settling back into 'normal' routine, Jonny took his absence to his advantage to prepare for the big production ahead of him.

...

Jonny-Boy had done him proud, indeed.

The club was exactly how he had left it to go on his little trip to the loony asylum, with not a thing out of place. He could count on Jonny well to upkeep his business.

The place was thriving, pulsing with excitement when Joker smoothed down his vibrant green hair, preening himself for his entrance back into his kingdom. Wearing his best tuxedo suit and matching trousers for the night, no shirt, suspenders snug around his shoulders, gun holstered to his side, he felt good and ready to get the show on the road. Rolling his neck around his shoulders, stretching various tendons while holding his interlaced fingers behind his back, flexing his knuckles, he finally felt ready to make his entrance.

He felt jittery with excitement, with mirth as he pushed through the door into the club.

Every eye turned to him in the room, and he relished in it, running his tongue over his capped teeth salaciously. The lights on the ceiling were flashing, pulsing manically from red to white, while the dancers did their pretty little thing.

Eyes still on him, he held out both arms flamboyantly, turning around slowly on the spot, a dominant peacock showing his feathers to all those around him. He'd returned, the King was back.

Alone without his little Harley Quinn, mind you. But back nevertheless.

Once feeling satisfied with the respectful amount of attention he'd received, he finally approached his usual spot, in his private V.I.P area. Loud rock music started playing, filling the silence. He hitched up his trousers before sitting, letting out a gruff "Ahhh" through his teeth at the immediate familiarity of the couches comfort, lifting his arms and outstretching them wide at the back of the couch.

 _Oh, here... we... go._ He rolled his eyes.

Just as he was predicting, a flock of men started approaching him, one by one. So eager to welcome him back, so eager to kiss ass.

"Er, welcome back, J," first man grumbled nervously, the fear reeking off him pungently like a bad smell. So uneasy. He made so many people so uneasy, and it was easy as breathing, the way he made them flinch, made them cower. He reveled in it. The young man avoided his gaze, shaking a little. "Good to see you back in one piece."

The Joker rolled his eyes again before outstretching his right hand, showing his pinky ring.

Like the straight up nincompoop he was, the young man did not hesitate to bend down, pressing his lips to Joker's ring. He could feel the young man's lips quivering on the cold metal, and Joker had to suppress a laugh at how quick the boy turned away, desperate to flee unscathed.

Next man came up to greet him and brown nose him, this one a little more cocky and braver than the first one this time.

"Great to see you back, Mr. J," the man said confidently, his voice cool and collected as his dark eyes held and did not waver from Joker's. "Knew you'd get out of that loony bin eventually." Bowing his head in an imitation of respect, the man quickly left, only for the next person to come up, then the next. And the next. Next. Next. Next.

 _Boring, boring, boring..._

All these endless brown-nosers, so eager to show their loyalty to him, their dedication, just so he'd still remain an investor in their part of their business. Yawn. And he thought the crazy asylum, Arkham, was worth escaping out of so that he'd have to put up with this? At least back then he'd had his little Harley girl to play and amuse himself with...

 _His Harley Warly Pudny Parly._

His thoughts drifted to her as, endlessly, the next sweet talker tried their charms on him.

 _Oh, his Harley. His Harley, Harley, Harley._

His mind drifted, until he felt like he was no longer there, present in the club anymore. An out of body experience, where his mind had separated itself from his body. Like a puppet pulled on strings, his body was present, coaxing each and every ass kisser in the room to kiss the ring reflexively.

But his mind...

 _"Mr. J, what are you doing?"_

Her panicked voice filled the chasms in his mind.

 _"I thought we were going? So what are you doing?"_

It began again, like a bad joke. That throbbing over his mark, that buzzing over the looped calligraphy, skin-deep, in his neck.

 _"You can't kill me, Mr. J. Want to know how I know that, huh?"_

Her voice, how strong she had sounded. How certain.

 _"'Cause we're soulmates. You can't kill me, Mr. J. It's not possible. We belong together..."_

That irritating feeling formed in his heart again, the horrible one from this morning. It was embarrassing, how.. unfunny he'd found the whole entire thing, in turning her brains into scrambled mush. He'd never felt such a feeling before, usually he found it amusing, hurting people, killing them, torturing them. Yet all it takes is one loony Doctor hell bent on them being soulmates to leave him in a black hole state of confusion, hesitation and... and... sappy regret?

" _We belong together..."_

Now he'd almost wished he hadn't left her behind after all. She could have brought so much fun to his little City, to his little club.

Just you and me, baby. You and me against the world. And maybe he hadn't been playing? Maybe he'd actually meant that, at the time, sappy as it was to consider?

He's gone years trying to track her down, having finally found her at that crazy farm. Doctor Harleen Quinzel.

He'd heard it multiple times. People said someone like him wasn't capable of love, wasn't capable of anything. Compassion... Remorse. Apparently he was a psychopath- and, to be perfectly honest, he found being labelled as that an outright hoot.

It made people automatically fear him, deem him dangerous, terrifying. It gave him immense power, made people remember who was boss, who was King.

Loathe as he did to admit it, he had _actually enjoyed_ having his little Doctor around. Talking to her, fooling with her. Her sappy questions about love and her little gifts. It had been a blast. What fun was there without her anymore?

She'd been so willing. Oh, so perfectly willing to join his side, to be part of his world.

All the fun they could do together. Not overly 'sappy' fun, like lovey-dovey stuff. But killing together, burning down buildings, wrecking havoc. Laughing together. Having her at his side, his Queen. _The King and Queen, owners of Gotham City._

It would be a real party, a party fit for two. Batsy Boy wouldn't have known what's hit him if he knew there was not just the Joker causing havoc on Gotham City. Imagine how much he'd be crapping his spandex pants once he discovered there were two of 'em, Joker and his girl.

And what was that stupid saying? It takes two to tango?

Back in his right mind, he grit his teeth as the line of brown-nosers started getting smaller. Then he decided he'd had enough of sitting around, bored out of his brains. He ignored the proffered hand of some man that had approached him, instead lifting his boot. He swung carelessly, catching the man right in the groin roughly, and he cackled when the man fell back while both hands cupped through his pants in agony, while he also knocked over a few men behind him.

"Ow," he heard the guy whimper tragically, which tickled him even more.

"Ow," he mocked, copying the guy in an exaggerated, wailing voice. A few dancers turned and stared at his little performance, but Joker was beyond caring. He never cared. The more spectators, the better. "Ow."

Rising to his feet, he turned away, catching Jonny's eye behind his shoulder.

"I'm going out for a little road trip," he told Jonny, then he left, striding away determinedly from the group of men all lined up, aware they were all staring after him like sad little whiny pups.

He had to find her. He didn't think like this all too often but he could see now that maybe, just maybe, impulsively sizzling her brains out and leaving her at Arkham had been a huge _whoopsie!_ moment for him.

* * *

Harleen woke with a start, immediately aware she was aching all over as her eyes popped open. She blinked heavily and squinted, blinded momentarily by a harsh glare of white light above her while she sucked in deep, ragged breaths through her lips.

It was agony. Everything that she felt from her head... straight down to the very tips of her toes. Sheer, plain agony.

Her stomach coiled in on itself as she turned her head away from the light, becoming aware of her surroundings. She was alone, all by herself, in a tattered, discarded room. She wondered why she felt so stiff and so cold, then realized it was because she was on one of the steel operating tables where the patients at Arkham were frequently operated on.

What had happened minutes- or was it hours ago?- flashed in her mind brutally, fractured memories coming to the surface. She clenched her eyes shut against them as they flickered around in her head painfully, making her head throb.

His voice. _Her Mr. J_ , of all people.

 _"We're gonna play a game. And lucky, lucky, lucky you, ya get to go first. You wanna play, hmm?"_

Her stomach coiled in over itself and rolled again as she turned slowly onto her side, lifting her knees up. She held them to her chest, comforting herself while her arms wrapped around her shoulders, getting into a protective fetal position. She was shaking. Trembling all over.

 _"Oh, no, no. You see, I'm not gonna kill ya. I'm just gonna hurt ya. Really, really bad."_

It was _him_. _He_ did this _to her_.

Her soulmate, the man she was meant to be with.

And after _everything_ she'd done for him?

All their time spent together, talking in the session room? All her gifts to him, all their special talks?

He'd asked her for a kitty. She couldn't give him a kitty- it was against Arkham policy- so, fearing to disappoint him, she'd gone above and beyond to get him a stuffed toy kitty instead, praying it had made a good enough substitute.

He'd asked her to get him a machine gun- and she'd even done what he'd said. She had been willing to throw away everything for him, all because they were soulmarked and were meant to be together!

Her job at Arkham!

Her own entire frigging life!

Her identity as Harleen Quinzel, even!

She'd sacrificed everything for him! And yet, he'd gone and done this to her? This was what she got in return? This is how he _repaid_ her expressions of loyalty, of... devotion? Of... _love_ , even?

Her jaw was aching so badly from grinding her teeth, probably while he had done what he'd done to her.

Something tickled down her face. Reopening her eyes a peek, she brought up a hand, wiping around the crease of her lower eyelids with her fingers slowly. When she held her hand back to look at it, she noticed the dark black smudge of mascara dirtying them, probably because she was crying and her mascara was not waterproof.

She had to sit up, but it took her a couple of seconds to find her courage. Bracing herself, she pulled her legs away from her chest and shifted upright, swinging her feet off the steel table She could barely move her jaw from pain, and she could feel her heart beating too fast in her chest.

Her eyes searched around the room. It was completely empty. White curtains were pulled back from another steel table that divided patients when undergoing their therapy. Smashed pieces of glass were covered the floor beneath her. Her eyes found the rods he had used- the ones he had held to her temples. Instinctively, she touched the area where he'd held them to her skin, massaging gently near her hairline with her forefingers. Her temples felt bruised and tender.

He'd done this to her. The hurtful knowledge came to her again, and Harleen felt her stomach muscles kick and spasm involuntarily beneath the weight of it.

He'd actually done this to her. And he'd dared to leave her. He'd left her here, crashed out in the room, all alone, and in pain.

 _He'd left her._

She'd been so naive, she realized. So, so naive and stuck on the thought that they were soulmates.

What the hell would make her so different compared to anybody else that he probably toyed with? He'd played with her heart, with her stupid romantic wishes of them sharing a life together, all because they were soulmarked to each other. What had she been thinking? He was a master manipulator, he probably did this to everybody. He was a known psychopath who, on record, was not capable of loving or feeling for anybody. And she'd believed him for goodness sake?

She'd always heard people say, _when you find the one your soulmarked to, you follow your heart. You follow your heart and let them in, and everything suddenly turns rosy._

 _What a dope she'd been to believe that!_ She'd followed her heart and look where that got her! To where she is now!

He's not capable of love. Or giving or receiving love, for that matter. Why was she so damn naive?

"It's not your fault," she whispered through gritted teeth, keeping her jaw stiff, careful not to move it too much. She stroked her own cheek with the heel of her hand, caressing it, soothing her own betrayal and self-hatred away. "He tricked you. He took advantage of you bein' besotted over the idea of being soulmates with him, that's all."

As if someone had turned on a switch, her soulmark began buzzing beneath the fabric of her blouse. Irritated by it, she dropped her hand from her cheek, yanking the tucked-in ends of her blouse out of her skirt. She found her mark, covering it over with her palm and the length of her hand. Her skin felt moist and warm beneath it.

Suddenly, she didn't want it there anymore. Curling her fingers inward, she began scratching it, scratching along the letters as roughly as she could. _Do your friends call you Harley?_

"Get off'a me," she muttered harshly through her clenched teeth, scraping against her skin furiously. "I don't want you anymore! Get off!"

The mark didn't listen to her voice. Instead, it seemed to intensify, that feeling. Giving up in heart broken defeat, tears rushing down her face, she dipped her chin, lifting her blouse, glancing at her stomach. Her skin was red raw and inflamed along the words of her mark from her sharp fingernails, but that was it, It was as if the mark was so ingrained into her skin, so thick like a tattoo that, no matter how hard she damn well tried, nothing could ever get rid of it.

Eyeing her surroundings again, she noticed it then. Her gun, the Rhino Revolver she'd brought. Mr. J hadn't taken her gun with him. An idea forming in her brain, she slid off the bench as gracefully as she could, anger replacing her grief. Reaching down gingerly despite the aching twang in her side, she got hold of the white handle, tightening her fingers around it. She lifted it up, immediately remembering the man's instructions in the gun store.

She opened the cylinder, checking to make sure it still had bullets inside. It did. It had three.

"You wanna play a game?" she murmured to herself distractedly as she flicked her wrist, wrenching the chamber shut again. She eyed the end of the barrel with wide, shining blue eyes while she felt something deadly, something mischievous and vengeful course through her veins. "Huh, well, _lucky for you_ , Mr. J, ya get to go first." She didn't realize what she was doing until the words flew out of her mouth.

She was mocking him. Copying him.

She wanted him to pay for what he did to her. Who the hell did he think he was for leaving her this way anyway?

Her mind made up, she tucked the gun carefully between the tight waistband of her skirt, then she fixed up her shirt, making sure it covered over the gun perfectly.

 _Mr. J wasn't gonna know what's hit him._

* * *

" _Where_?"

His patience was wearing thin.

Sitting in the driver's seat of his purple Lamborghini, the Joker was growing more and more frustrated by the minute. He growled through his teeth as he stomped down on the accelerator,listening to the beast of an engine purr. Waiting was not something he particularly liked to do, but he was finding he was having no luck in scouting out the streets of Gotham for any sign of her.

It was a mild, quiet evening on the streets of Gotham. There wasn't much traffic out tonight, no cars that he could purposefully bump into or chase down as a distraction while searching for his Harley.

Tightening his pale, slender fingers over the steering wheel, he growled again, this time shaking his entire body furiously at his lack of success. A sudden impulse made him jolt up from the seat, only to smack the top of his scalp on the roof of the car. The pain throbbing around his cranium only soothed him momentarily as he laughed. A strand of green hair curled out of place due to its contact with the car ceiling, and he sighed, wiping it back into place with his fingers.

"Where... _is_ she?" He muttered out loud to himself, growling like a dog.

A spark of hope lit inside him as he thought he saw a blonde-haired woman walking on the pavement, and his eyes glued to her immediately. Unfortunately, as he raced past her, he saw the front view of her face and body and pulled his rouge lips down into a scowl of disappointment.

That hope exploded and died within him immediately. No, no, that wasn't his Harley, so... _where? Where... was... she?_

"Where are you, honey bunny?" he called out inside the car, as if she were his cherished pet, his loyal little doggy that responded to his calls, even in the purple Lamborghini with the windows wound up. "Come, come, _come_ to Daddy!"

What happened next, had a thrilling shiver of shock rattling through his spine.

He heard the sound of glass smashing and, in the next instance, a bullet was shooting through the empty passenger's seat, right through from the windshield.

He clomped down onto the break with his foot without thought, skidding to a loud halt as the Lamborghini rumbled and vibrated around him, plummeting back against the leather seat at the fast break action. His eyes roamed ahead of him through the windshield, his chest heaving in excitement through the loosened collar of his tuxedo jacket.

Batsy or... his Harley?

He couldn't see anyone standing around near the car, the culprit who had shot at him. The street was empty.

Tonguing his grill, he lifted his head, scanning the high buildings for any glimpse of Batsy-Boy coming to join the party.

Batsy?

Or... Harley?

He couldn't see Batsy anywhere on a rooftop. But then he felt it, and his silent question was answered. In response, he grinned widely while closing his eyes, letting that niggling sensation overtake him, the one that always did lately whenever she was close. He inclined his head, basking in the feeling, turning his head gently side to side as it enveloped him like a suffocating blanket, a deep moan tearing through the back of his throat.

That all-too-familiar sensation, that feeling like invisible fingers were tickling and tracing over his soulmark.

 _She was near._

And then-

"Get outta the car!"

* * *

Harleen hadn't been sure she'd be able to track him down.

Yet she'd felt it, the instance she'd jogged across the street, the instance she'd heard the growling of an engine in the distance and screech of tires. The mark on her stomach had started feeling tender, had started feeling tingly- a telling sign that he was near, that her soulmate was in close range.

Squinting through her glasses down the long street-lamped lit street, she'd seen the fancy purple sports car zooming down the street towards her at lightning speed. She'd caught a glimpse of a head of vibrant green hair and she hadn't had her doubts then.

It was him. Mr. J. She'd _found_ him.

Whipping her revolver out of her waistband, she'd gotten into position, spreading her legs a width apart. Lifting her arm straight and angling it towards the windshield opposite his seat, she'd clenched her finger down on the trigger. One breath had barely left her before she firmly held the trigger down, shooting at her moving target.

And she'd done it. She'd actually done it.

The moment he'd slammed on the breaks and the tires skidded to a loud halt, she'd immediately moved into action. There was little time to think. If she gave herself time to think, she knew she'd only just chicken out and she was hell-bent on making him pay. It's what he deserved, wasn't it?

Heart hammering in her chest, she strode briskly towards the passenger's side of his car, holding her arm straight, aiming the gun at him through the window at where he sat. Through it, she saw his eyes were clenched closed, his head flopped downward. He seemed oddly serene as he slowly rolled his head around on his shoulders, as if he was a cat basking in the sun. It unnerved her deeply, how calm he appeared in contrast to her violent actions.

Sucking in a deep breath, she stepped closer, "Get outta the car!"

It was hard to speak when her jaw was still sore from grinding down on her teeth the way she had when he'd done his little game of electroshock on her, but she managed. To her relief, her voice was steady and firm.

He reopened his eyes slowly, and then, turning his head, he met her gaze.

Harleen wasn't sure why it started her the way it did, because obviously he had to look at her, didn't he? Only, the minute his eyes made contact with hers, wide and black-rimmed with smudged eye make-up, she felt her resolve and determination crumble, just like that.

She wasn't expecting him to look at her like that and she swallowed as she forced herself not to look away. Red lips parted, teeth glinting at her as he held her gaze intensely through the glass on the window.

What startled her most of all, she thought, was the fact that his eyes showed no fear in them at all. Here she was, holding a gun at him, a _clearly loaded_ gun seeing as she'd shot through his windshield all but two damn seconds ago, and _what_ , _no flinch or flicker of fear_ from Mr. J at all?

She heard the door handle unlatch and she forced herself to step back a distance, still holding the gun tightly. She kept it aimed at his face as finally, he did as she requested, climbing out of the car. And then she saw the clothes he was wearing and she felt her arm shake unsteadily as her eyes roamed down his outfit quickly.

He was no longer dressed in his boring prison garb or straitjacket, which, of course, he wouldn't be because he was out of Arkham now. But it still took her a moment to gather herself when she saw him wearing normal clothes. Well, _sort of_ normal clothes.

Her heart ached a little at how four buttons on his white shirt were undone, showing his pale, muscular chest and the numerous tattoos he had decorating his skin. His _My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel_ soulmark was shown proudly, the collar of his shirt not covering the cursive lines at all. Suspenders held up his suit trousers, and his shoes appeared to be made of crocodile skin or something of the like. Civilian clothes. He was wearing civilian clothes- although obviously ones that showed his own particular flare and unique style.

It felt so real then, so close. He was now out of Arkham, and they could have been together. Could have had a real good life together, just him and her, if he hadn't done what he'd done to her. They could have had something so good, and yet, he'd gone and left her after brutalizing her?

Harleen felt her eyes sting with moisture as she brought her eyes back up to his face again. She hadn't noticed it until a second later, but he must have taken advantage of her ogling, her distraction. He'd been taking it one step at a time, sneaker closer and closer to her. She lifted the gun higher, until it was level to his forehead, to the 'Damaged' tattoo there gracing his skin. Again, she noticed he did not flinch or give any outward sign of fear at all.

"You..." she began, and then she had to stop to clear her throat, because it had lost some of its firmness.

She now began to feel just as vulnerable and heartbroken as she felt on the inside, but she did not want to give him the satisfaction or power of knowing he'd gotten to her.

"You left me there?" She inhaled in deeply, then decided she did not care anymore if he heard how hurt she was. "You think its okay to just up and leave me like that, huh, Mr. J?"

He snarled through his teeth at her, eyes still not leaving hers.

"After _everything_ I've done for you? _Everything_ you've asked of me, I've done it, haven't I? Like the... the kitty and the... machine gun?" Her voice rose, high pitched and tremulous as her eyes held his. "Hell, I got you that machine gun, just like you'd asked? I'd smuggled it in! I did what ya said!"

She caught the movement as he inched closer with his shoes against the pavement, and her hand tightened on the handle of her gun, holding it straighter towards his head.

He was standing so close now, that all he had to do was reach up and snatch the gun from her, yet he held his hands at his sides carelessly. Shoes scuffling against the concrete, finally she felt it as the nozzle of her gun pressed against the skin of his forehead, obstructing his 'Damaged' tattoo from her sight. She swallowed again against an uneasy thick lump that had formed at the back of her throat, her underarms feeling damp.

"I've done _every goddamn thing_ you've said! Everything!"

She tried to peer into his luminous bluish-grey eyes, tried to plead with him despite how loud her heart was pumping and how frightened she was at the fact that he showed no fear whatsoever that she held a loaded gun at him. She could literally blow his brains out at any second!

"Haven't I _proved_ myself worthy to you, and about how much I wanna be part of your world with you, huh?" Now that she had begun, she couldn't seem to stop. The words were tumbling out, achingly sad, and desperately loud, "Haven't I... I proved my loyalty to you and how... how much we're _meant to be together_?"

She felt his forehead leave contact with the nozzle of the gun as he raised both hands in the air, as if in surrender.

Only she realized his true reason for it when Mr. J rolled his eyes at her, muttering in what sounded like a gruff tone of disgust, "Got it, got it." He made a swishing hand motion at her, as if to say 'stop with the sweet words already'. "Got. _It_." The last part tore through clenched teeth as he enunciated each word.

His quick dismissal of her words, it shred at her heart more than she thought it would, more than even the thought of his betrayal, more than even the fact that he had left her behind, suffering at Arkham after shocking her had. How could he deny it and dismiss it when proof was there, on their skin? How could he not accept it and let her in?

But she set her chin and kept up, hoping to make her voice as steady as possible. "We're soul mates, we got the marks on our skin to show for it."

Forgetting herself in all her desperation to get her point across, Harleen lowered her arm that was holding the gun slightly as she reached out with her other free hand towards him. The moment her fingertips touched above the loosened collar of his shirt, the moment they stroked against hot skin and cursive lines that spelled her name, he stepped back and recoiled as if she'd burnt him with a match.

"See, ya even got my name on your neck for goodness sake! Just accept it!"

He hummed throatily at her words, his head tilted in what seemed obvious dismissal. "I am _not_..." Mr. J paused for a moment, turning his head, as if considering his words extra carefully, "Someone who is... _loved._.. or is... _in love_."

He circled her, his polished shoes scratching against the concrete as he walked around her body like a shark taunting its prey, sizing her up for the precise moment to strike. Regardless, Harleen felt high, as if she were floating to the ceiling beneath his gaze.

Still, her heart fell with every word he was telling her.

"I am... an idea, a..." Slipping in front of her again, he clapped his hands loudly while smacking his lips together, the unexpected moment causing Harleen to flinch, "State of mind!" In a showy gesture, he extended both arms out, wiggling each of his slender fingers at her as he paced around her again, taunting her. "I execute my will according to my plans and _you_..." He was going on and on, scattering her mind as he raised a hand at her, jabbing his forefinger and wiggling it at her accusingly, "You and _this_ "- Then he tapped violently at the mark on his neck- "Harley Quinn, are neither part of my plans."

"What, and _ya think_ this was part of my plans too, huh?" A bitter, disbelieving laugh tore through Harleen's chest at his words, making her arm that was holding the gun shake and tremble. "You _think_ I planned for it to be you, huh? That I... _I wanted_ to have to willingly make sacrifices such as give up my job or my... my _whole entire life_ to be with you, huh, Mr. J? You _don't think I wish it was easier_ than that, huh?"

He held a slender forefinger to his lips, as if warning her to be quiet, a look of quiet warning in his eyes for her as his eyebrowless forehead crumbled. But she didn't care, not anymore. She'd put her heart out on the line this far. What difference did it make anymore?

"Well, ' _course_ I do!" She went on, ignoring him as an exasperated low grumbling noise left the base of his throat. "Course I wish things were different, that you'd... you'd turned out to be somebody else! But I've _still let you_ in!" She could feel her face muscles slackening, the soft look overtaking her as she tried to put all her desperation, all her sincerity, into what she was telling him. "I _still_ let ya in, Mr. J! I'm _not fighting_ this so... _please_!" Swallowing again, she lifted the gun, touching it to his forehead again, hoping to make her intent clear. "Please, let me in or..."

"Or?" He repeated, in a deep, gravely timbre. " _Or, hmm_...?"

"Or I'll kill you!" The instance it left her mouth, she knew she didn't sound very threatening or convincing at all. And he saw through her. "I _swear to God_ , I _promise_ I will!" She knew he saw straight through her when, without warning, he brought up both hands, only to cover them over her one that was holding the gun in a death grip.

Her heart jolted in her chest as his fingertips gently covered over her knuckles, the multiple rings on his fingers cold and hard against her flesh, while his other hand grasped hold of the side of her revolver, positioning the gun to where he no doubt knew the precise spot of where it would be fatal for him if she did so happen to follow through and pull the trigger, shooting him.

"Ooh," he rumbled out, amused, like he was testing her, calling her bluff. Harleen felt her confidence waver, her heart thumping loudly in apprehension as her eyes alternated between looking at the gun to his face. She saw that his eyes were right on her, bright and challenging, shinning with unnerving mirth. His lips curled and spread into a wide, metallic grin when he must have caught her looking. "Do it, honey bunny."

 _Honey bunny._ The endearment made her heart seize painfully in her chest. He'd called her that once in Arkham during a few of their sessions.

"Do it," he muttered again, egging her on, goading her. "Do it, baby. Pull that trigger." It was disarming and upsetting, how composed and clearly unaffected he felt by her holding the gun at him, a clearly loaded gun. "Do it, baby, baby. Do it."

It occurred to her that he actually wanted her to. And it occurred to Harleen that, while he did not fear death evidently, he clearly was more threatened by the idea of letting her in, of opening his heart to her, of accepting their soulmarks. He'd acted dismissive and as if he didn't want to hear her words, like he loathed the thought of being intimate and in a romantic partnership with someone. Was that why he had done what he did earlier, in electrocuting her? To still prove he could, even to... her, his soulmate?

"Wow," she muttered softly, as the realization came to her. "What? So a gun and threatening to kill you doesn't scare you, yet my... _my heart_ and the idea of letting me in, of _accepting us_ as soulmates does?"

She caught something flicker in his eyes then. A small, fleeting look, but a telling one, nevertheless. She'd hit the nail on the head, her observation was right, and he clearly didn't like that. What he did next proved it.

Suddenly, his fingers clenched, cutting into her knuckles tightly and Harleen gasped, unprepared for the bone crushing pain he inflicted on her. Next thing she knew, her grip was slackening from its grip on the gun due to it, and it clattered to the ground, knocking against the concrete at their feet loudly. Neither bothered swooping quickly to pick it up, much to Harleen's relief.

His fingers loosening from their painful grasp on her knuckles, Mr. J finally let her hand go. Her hand throbbed instantly, red imprints from his fingermarks there when she glanced down at it quickly.

The pained noise Mr. J made caused her eyes to flit up to him again. He'd turned away from her, one hand curled and resting on his hip, the other running through his slick green hair, pushing it back neatly.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, resigned, as if he'd accepted defeat.

"You really wanna be my girl, hmm?"

After _everything_ that had happened, after what he'd done to her, she knew she shouldn't have given in easily, that it would make her a pushover, it would make her seem weak. Yet, she was exhausted and she just wanted to be with him. She'd already accepted that the second she'd gotten a machine gun for him. Maybe even earlier than that.

"Yeah," Harleen murmured, eyes pinned to his back and the outline of his broad shoulders as he made a gruff animal-noise at her confirmation. "Yeah, I really wanna be your girl, Mr. J. More than anything. What the hell more can I do to prove it to you?"

"Then come on, come on." When he turned his green head to look at her, his eyes flickered down her face, then her body, making her shiver in the weight of his stare. The little J at the corner of his cheek twitched as he inhaled wheezily through his silver teeth. "I'm taking you for a little, ittle drive."

 **Hey guys, so sorry for taking so long to update, I hope you will forgive me! And I hope this chapter is okay despite my time and absence away? So nervous! Let me know what you think :) Thank you all so much, and I'll update again much sooner now that I'm back here. Hope the story is still somewhat remaining true despite changing up some things a little?**


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